Of Pottery and Pride
by geckohawaii
Summary: Hiko's latest assignment for his deshi has the red-head traveling down the mountain to deliver an important parcel. When Kenshin runs into a petulant village boy—literally—he struggles to keep his composure—and his pride.
1. Chapter 1

Halle-freakin'-lujah. FINALLY ff dot net has section breaks as part of their format! No more frustrations when the html won't save right. I'm so happy I might cry. *sniff* And with that immature outburst out of the way, here is the start of a relatively short fic that I've been chipping away at for a year or two. Pitiful. It took watching the latest two live-action Kenshin movies to get my muse ticking again. Hopefully the writing style won't vary too much as the story progresses. Currently in keeping-Japanese-to-a-minimum-unless-absolutely-necessary (or I just think it sounds better ;) ) mode.

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A cloaked man swept through the forest, booted feet passing silently over the dry pine needles that blanketed the ground. An unornamented sword swung gently at his side, its presence suggesting he was more than just an ordinary traveler passing through the tree-studded mountain. He moved with the ease of one who had walked this particular path many times before, stepping over the occasional fallen log and avoiding pinecones even as his austere expression scanned the tree line−or more accurately, scanned the branches of the trees that stretched high above him.

It was obvious he was looking for something; obvious as his expression darkened with each passing step that he had yet to find it. The man stopped abruptly at a seemingly nondescript pine, running a hand along the tree's trunk. The knobbed contours of the bark were rough, but the roughness suddenly gave way to an inexplicable patch of smoothness.

The hand fell back at his side and he bent to the ground, gaze sweeping the perimeter of the tree. His eyes locked onto something, and he reached out to pick up several chips of bark that lay on the ground directly beneath the tree. Expression thoughtful, he glanced to the apex of the tree, absently rubbing the bark between his fingers. His eyes moved to the next tree, then to the next. The bark dropped from his fingers and he stood, moving with more purposeful strides now in the direction his gaze had gone. Several minutes and almost a mile later, he stopped underneath the boughs of an enormous cedar. The trunk was almost ten feet across, and the man took a moment to appreciate how many years it had taken to reach that girth. He threw his gaze skywards then, craning his head in order to see all the way to the top of the behemoth flora.

Deep as the man was in the forest, the midday sun still pierced the canopy with zealous intensity, and he threw a hand across his forehead to reduce the sudden influx of light. Squinting against the glare, his dour expression turned into a satisfied smirk as his eyes made out the crouched form of a boy in the limbs high above.

The man's eyes moved to the boy's face, noticed he was staring at something. He followed the gaze, saw a tiny object resting just in front of the boy's feet. The boy lifted his hand slowly, moving it towards the object−the man could see now it was a bird, the barest suggestion of white-spotted feathers underneath fluffy grey down marking it hardly more than a fledgling. The creature hopped sideways a bare inch and drew its head further into the downy feathers ringing its neck. The boy edged closer, hand still raised towards the chick.

The sound of wings beating furiously drew the man's attention, and his eyes flicked above the boy's head. Another bird, this one undeniably mature, was poised for attack, uttering a shrill screech as it descended swiftly, aiming at the pillow of red hair that crowned the boy's head.

Well, now was as good a time as any to announce his presence.

"Kenshin!"

The call spiraled up through the thick branches of the tree, strident tone demanding acknowledgement.

The boy lifted his head in alarm at the sound, noticing as he did so that a very irate bird was heading straight for his face. Eyes wide, he scrambled backwards, then thought to look down and ensure he wasn't about to crush the tiny animal behind him.

The little bird had begun hopping crazily when it heard the panicked voice of its mother, and the red-head hastily checked his footing, avoiding what would have been an ill-placed step. He was teetering precariously on one leg now, and the fledgling's parent had circled to make another dive at him.

The man watching the spectacle down below, none other than Hiko Seijuurou the XIII, master of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, heaved a long-suffering sigh. He could already see where this was headed. With a resigned motion, he reached towards the sword at his side. Pulling it from his waistband still sheathed, he looked up again at the chaos unfolding in the tree. The chick was still hopping erratically on the limb, and Kenshin's arms windmilled as he danced around the tiny obstacle while trying to regain his balance.

Kenshin finally lost the battle with gravity completely−Hiko hadn't doubted he would−and as he began a rapid descent to the forest floor, the swordmaster adjusted his position, holding his sheathed sword out lengthwise. He braced himself for the impact, and as the plummeting red-head's gi caught neatly on the tip of his sheath he raised his arm slightly, minimizing the jolt.

That done, he promptly lowered his wrist, letting the boy fall to the ground, where he sprawled unceremoniously with a soft thump. Kenshin looked up, surprise lining his features. A tentative smile crossed his face when he saw who stood above him.

"Shishou . . . I was−I was−"

"Not doing what you were instructed." The Hiten master interrupted. "I've been calling you for the past ten minutes, how long did you plan on ignoring me?"

Kenshin shook his head furtively. "I wasn't ignoring you, I didn't hear you!"

"Apparently you didn't hear much of anything." Hiko muttered, thinking of the enraged bird defending its young. "Well, your horrendous skills of awareness aside, that was a god-awful way to get out of that tree. Did you think you'd be able to fly if you tried hard enough, or were you just testing my desire to keep you alive?"

Kenshin took the question in all seriousness. "No, shishou, I just lost my balance."

Hiko stifled the urge to roll his eyes. "And _why_ did you lose your balance?" He found if he didn't talk Kenshin through his mistakes like this, the boy was slow as molasses picking up on what he had done wrong.

"Well, the baby bird was in the way-" Kenshin began.

On second thought, he was slow as molasses regardless of Hiko's brilliant teaching techniques.

"Did the bird shove you? Even touch you?"

"N-o-o-o-"

"Then it didn't make you lose your balance." Hiko waved a hand at him. "Go on, I'm waiting."

"I guess I−I overcompensated." Kenshin's mouth scrunched in concentration. "I tried to stop myself from stepping, but my body was already going that way, so I tried to change direction, and I went too far the other way. And the bird _did_ keep hopping," He added. When Hiko looked at him flatly he gave a shrug. "Then I fell."

"And so remorseful about that fact."

"I _am_ , shishou! And I was going to land right, really, if you hadn't got me-"

"You probably would have broken your neck." Hiko finished. "That was possibly the worst attempt at landing I've seen in my life. You were closer to splitting your head open than you were to landing on your feet."

Kenshin scowled. "I'm still working on it."

"Which is why I decided to catch you," Hiko said with a magnanimous air. "Don't expect me to do that come next year. You'll have to reap the consequences of any idiotic maneuvers you decide to perform then."

"Hai." Kenshin sighed. And here he'd thought he might be able to impress his shishou, even though he'd been caught taking a break from his training.

"But we'll work on that later. For now, I need you to run an errand for me."

Kenshin got to his feet, brushed at the assortment of pine needles and twigs that had lodged in his hair and caught in his clothes. "An errand?"

"Mm, I want you to go into the village and sell a set of saucers I finished to Suzuki Kenta. His daughter's getting married. Then you can pick up some tofu for us on the way back."

Kenshin gave a moue of discontent. Sometimes it seemed he did more errands than training. "But shishou, I thought you were going to show me a new technique today!"

" _Were_ being the operative word. After seeing that ballet you put on up there, I've decided it's far too soon."

"But−but−I wasn't −you weren't−"

"No use sputtering about it, I've already made up my mind." Hiko threw a glance skywards. "It's already the middle of the day, so get going. Before I decide to turn tomorrow into an all-out sparring match."

Kenshin blanched. Sparring matches with his shishou weren't one of his most cherished aspects of training. In fact, it was pretty low on the list of favorites. Possibly at the very bottom. Or not even on there at all. It wasn't that sparring wasn't helpful. No, by the end of each match he knew every single flaw in his technique, every misstep, each under tempo swing of his blade. Being brought face to face with his shortcomings was bad enough but he'd noticed they seemed to provide no end of amusement to his shishou. For Kenshin, sparring was just a study in humiliation.

 _One day though, I'll beat him_. It was the promise he doggedly told himself after every spar, even though every time he felt doubt creep into his resolve. Shishou wasn't just _good_ , he was _amazing_.

"I didn't know you wanted to spar so bad. You could've just asked, you know."

Kenshin started, realized he'd let his thoughts drift. "No, I'm going!" He rushed passed Hiko before he could say anything more, moving so fast that he disappeared from sight almost immediately.

"Kenshin!" Hiko didn't expect a response, and he wasn't surprised. The possibility that Kenshin was already out of hearing range didn't even cross his mind. Kenshin had a bad habit of tuning everything out when he was focused on a task.

 _Everything_.

From the almost purposeful way the boy ignored anything but the task at hand, Hiko could only assume Kenshin thought it a desirable quality. That was something he'd have to overcome though, if he ever expected to master any sword style, let alone Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. A swordsman could never become so focused on something he failed to notice the bigger picture. Become too intent on dispatching one enemy, and the other might do you in from behind.

The Hiten master made a disgruntled noise and stuck his sword back in his waistband with unnecessary force. "Baka, you don't even know what I want you to bring yet." He threw a baleful glare aimed at the tiny ball of feathers that had persuaded his student to shirk practice, then set off at a ground-eating pace to overtake Kenshin.

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Thanks for reading! Please don't forget to review. Critiques, tactful criticisms, generic comments, accolades, all will be cherished.


	2. Chapter 2

Kenshin carefully shifted the package in his arms, trying to see the road in front of him. He'd thought that when Hiko mentioned pottery for a wedding, he meant something intended for entertaining at small, intimate parties: a few saucers and a carafe for pouring, maybe. Instead, the load Hiko had saddled him with contained six pairs of the saucer-like _sakazuki_ , six pairs of the short, round _choko_ cups, and six _tokkuri_ for pouring. All in all, the pottery filled four bamboo-slatted boxes, and the height they came to when stacked for ease of transportation made it next to impossible for Kenshin to see where he was going. He _was_ only nine, after all. And his stature wasn't very impressive for a nine-year-old. He wished shishou had thought about that before deciding to send him down the mountain with what seemed such precious cargo.

Kenshin had spent several determined minutes trying to find a good solution to his predicament, but unfortunately all his ideas fell short of genius. He could either poke his head to one side−that made his neck horribly stiff−or hold the packages off to the side, which was sure to invite disaster. He had settled for an uncomfortable compromise, holding the package slightly in front of him and craning his neck to the side every few seconds.

Somehow, he made it down the mountain without incident, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the ground leveled out under him, the narrow path widening into a straightway leading through the small village that lay on the outskirts of Kyoto proper. The sun had already begun its descent across the sky, and Kenshin walked as quickly as he could while keeping the pottery from rattling. It was only early afternoon, but he wanted to be back before dark. He was supposed to be picking up tofu after he delivered the pottery, and that would take a little extra time.

Kenshin knew that a trip into the village didn't mean a free pass on training. Hiko would likely have an assignment for him the moment he got back, and Kenshin didn't want to spend the majority of his evening finishing exercises. It was looking like another clear summer night was in store, and if he was lucky his shishou would sit down with his sake and wax poetic about the moon and how one could be inspired and changed by nature− _kachou fuugetsu_.

But there would only be a chance of that happening if he finished his training for the day.

Mind on the possibilities that might come about after he'd accomplished his task, Kenshin temporarily forgot about the fact that his vision was effectively blocked, and when he thought to check his path again, it was already too late. The well-dressed boy running headlong towards Kenshin was shouting over his shoulder, oblivious to anything in his path. Panic grabbed the young swordsman and he started to move out of the way, shouting in a vain attempt to get the other boy's attention.

"Hey, look out!"

There wasn't enough time though. Kenshin couldn't move fast with the delicate cargo, and the other boy was so focused on yelling at whoever was behind him that he didn't notice the imminent disaster in front of him.

The scene played out as if in slow motion for Kenshin. He had already calculated exactly where the boy was going to run into him, and he braced himself for the impact, turning sideways as he hugged the boxes as close to his chest as possible, clapping one arm across the top with the faint hope that it would offer some protection.

Too late, Kenshin remembered one of his lessons that shishou had been trying to drill into his head.

 _A person subjected to an oncoming force has more stability and control when directly facing the opponent. Aside from leaving your back open, baring your side is one of the weakest ways to meet an attack_.

But did that rule apply to carrying fragile objects as well? Kenshin mused. He soon found out. Two seconds later the other boy barreled into his side, and despite his preparations Kenshin found himself knocked off his feet by the sheer forward momentum. Both boys bounced away from each other as if repelled by magnets, and Kenshin landed hard on his left side, boxes in a death grip. He breathed an audible sigh that he'd managed to retain his hold on them in spite of the painful landing, but the exhalation stuck in his throat when he heard the sharp crack that accompanied his fall. Horror engulfed him and he shoved himself aright. He almost expected the bamboo slats to pop outwards or burst into slivers in front of him. They didn't do either but as Kenshin shifted his hold he could hear the painful sound of hardened clay grinding together. Heart in his throat, Kenshin imagined the glazed pottery fragments sliding against each other as his shishou's hard work became nothing more than a collection of beautifully colored shards crumbling to the floor of the box.

He stared blindly at the packages now clasped loosely in his arms, mind too preoccupied to think about looking up and chastising the young catalyst in front of him who was scrambling to his feet with an angry scowl. Kenshin hardly noticed when a middle-aged man came huffing behind the boy, dark blue kimono skewed across his shoulder at a rakish angle. He grabbed the boy's arm just as he tried to step into a run. Kenshin probably would have stayed in his horrified stupor had a miffed young voice not cut into his distress.

"Thanks a lot, you idiot! Why can't you watch where you're going? Stupid peasant."

The collision had temporarily left Kenshin speechless but when he heard the spat insult, his shishou's crushed gift left the forefront of his mind. He looked away from the boxes, up at the boy who stood glaring down at him. Both the boy and the man next to him had their hair pulled back in samurai topknots, and although the boy's clothing was stained with dirt and sweat, the rich quality of fabric was still evident. Obviously not a peasant. But that didn't mean Kenshin was going to let _himself_ be addressed as such.

"I'm a swordsman!" He said hotly, carefully placing his package on the ground and standing as tall as he could. "Not a peasant!"

The boy tried to shrug off the grip of the man at his side, to no avail. The man was panting heavily, but his hold was firm. The boy gave a petulant growl and turned his anger on Kenshin again. "A swordsman? Yeah right, where's your sword then? And why're you carrying goods like a peasant?"

The blue-kimono-ed man was bent over as he tried to catch his breath, but he reached his free arm up to cuff the boy on the side of the head. "Enough of this, Naoki! It's your own fault you ran into him, not looking where you were going. Serve you right, trying to shirk your duties like that."

"This peasant should learn to look where he's going." Naoki said with a haughty lift of his chin. He looked down his nose at Kenshin, ostensibly sizing him up. "Heh, some swordsman. Doesn't have a sword, and so clumsy he can't even carry-" Naoki paused, nodded at the boxes Kenshin had placed on the ground, "whatever that is without breaking it."

The heat of the summer day was fast becoming negligible compared to the warmth Kenshin could feel suffusing his face. It wasn't so much the fact that a boy hardly older than himself was being unforgivably condescending−more that the boy refused to take Kenshin's word at face value. Kenshin tried to keep his anger in check, although his hands were clenched white-knuckled at his side. "Take it back. I _am_ a swordsman."

Naoki made a show of looking at Kenshin's right hip, then his left. "I don't see any sword, do you, Nakamura-san? Is it an invisible sword, peasant?"

Kenshin blinked. He supposed he couldn't really prove to Naoki he was a swordsman. Shishou didn't let him carry his sword into town, and without it he certainly didn't look the part of a warrior. "My sword's at home-" He began, and Naoki promptly guffawed.

"Sure it is! With your armor and helmet too?" Nakamura had recovered his breath and he cuffed Naoki again.

"Such a tormenter, you are! Your father will hear about this, Naoki-kun, make no doubt about that." He pulled on Naoki's arm then, taking a step back towards the village. "Now stop being such a nuisance, we're going back and you're going to finish your studies if it takes all night." Grumbling, Naoki threw a last scathing look at Kenshin before giving in to the unrelenting force tugging at his arm.

Kenshin watched the two of them go, blood boiling. That−that−horrible, stuck-up snob! He'd show him. He'd find a way to bring his sword into town, and he'd find Naoki, and he'd show him just how good of a swordsman he was. See what he said after he saw the speed of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. If shishou came, that would be even better. Then Naoki couldn't say Kenshin was just making up having a master and faking moves. Naoki wouldn't dare say shishou wasn't a swordsman.

Kenshin's gaze flicked to the boxes sitting in the road. All the work shishou had put into the gift, and Kenshin had gone and ruined it in less than a second. He swallowed, stomach feeling uneasy. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it had sounded. Shishou had packed them with moss, after all. Maybe there was just a chip or two in some of the saucers, or maybe only one cup had broken . . .

Kenshin took one hesitant step towards the boxes. His eyes were focused on the green moss sticking out of the top-most box, the brilliant color drawing him in like a lure. Gently, he reached a hand into the box, grasping a clump of moss and pulling it out. Eyes squeezed shut, he reached in again and felt for the pottery. Ah, there it was, a _tokkuri_ , and it felt thankfully smooth and unblemished, no missing pieces so far−

Kenshin's hand tightened around the _tokkuri_ as his wrist rubbed against something sharp.

 _Oh no_.

Setting the _tokkuri_ down, he finally got up the courage to peer over the side of the box. His heart sank. Yes, except for a tiny crack in the rim the _tokkuri_ was intact, but the four cups that had been nestled around it were now a jagged mosaic of blues and browns.

Maybe it was just that one box.

Kenshin proceeded to inspect each of the boxes, heart falling further into his chest with each consecutive one. Two broken there −one there− _four_ in that one?! Kenshin flopped on the ground, head falling into his cupped hands as he stared miserably at the display before him. All in all, there were thirteen pieces either chipped or broken, which left him with almost half of what he'd started with. He didn't know if he should deliver all the pieces and try to make up some excuse for the broken ones, or if he should just deliver the ones that were intact and pretend ignorance if the man asked about the rest of the order. Going back to his shishou first was out of the question. Kenshin needed some kind of resolution before he could face his master about this. He supposed the best thing to do would be to deliver the unbroken pieces, tell Suzuki-san what had happened, and go from there. He could figure out what he would tell shishou later.

Kenshin stood, repacking the boxes and setting off again with a glum expression. A short time later, his heavy feet brought him to a long wall that ran alongside the road. Kenshin paused, checking the surrounding parcels of land. There were no other walls of that length nearby. This had to be the place shishou had described for him, Suzuki Kenta's house. Looking at the sprawling fence that likely encompassed an equally impressive courtyard and house, Kenshin had a moment of hesitation. Maybe it would be better after all to head back up the mountain, tell Hiko what happened, and face the consequences.

An image came unbidden, Kenshin standing next to his master's kiln, singing the hairs on his arm as he tried to figure out how to fire pottery while his master yelled at him that he was doing it all wrong and maybe he should just throw his baka deshi in there and see if he could get it right _then_ −

Kenshin shook his head violently. No, no, he'd just see how Suzuki-san reacted first. Maybe he would be the forgiving sort.

Still feeling uneasy but determined to see this through, Kenshin positioned himself under the bell hanging from the gate and nudged it with a shoulder. The result was a weak _ting_ that he doubted could be heard even ten feet away. He was preparing to ring again, with his head this time, when the gate flew inwards with such speed that Kenshin felt his clothes flutter forward.

"Please tell me you're here to deliver Suzuki-san's sake sets."

Kenshin, busy trying to make sure the rest of his delivery didn't meet the same sad fate the first half had, peered from behind his boxes when he heard the strangely familiar voice. He couldn't have been more surprised to see Nakamura-san, the man who had been chasing after Naoki. Apparently Nakamura recognized him as well, because he immediately frowned.

"Oh. You."

Refusing to be intimidated−he found it much easier if he compared the man to shishou−Kenshin held out the boxes. "This is for Suzuki-san, from Hiko Seijuurou." Nakamura stared at the boxes with distaste, and for a moment Kenshin wondered if he was going to have the gate slammed in his face. Then Nakamura stepped forward and took the boxes from Kenshin's hands, motioning him into the courtyard with a jerk of his head.

"Come in then. You'll have to wait a moment so Suzuki-san can approve it. You have time for that, surely?"

Kenshin nodded, feeling his stomach clench at mention of approval. "Ah. . . about that . . ." He placed a hand behind his head in a nervous gesture as he stepped inside the gate, following Nakamura. "You see . . . I don't think you saw, but Naoki ran into me back there and made me fall and some of the pieces aren't very−they're not very-"

Oh, it was impossible to pitch it in a good light.

"Well, they're broken." Kenshin thought he saw the man wince. "But I can leave the ones that aren't!"

Nakamura stopped in front of a long porch and sighed. "Oh, Suzuki-san won't be pleased at all, this is _not_ good."

"I'm sorry." Kenshin offered with his most sincere tone. It didn't seem to have an effect on Nakamura.

"Don't tell me, tell him. He should be coming in just a moment." Kenshin heard footsteps then, and as a burly man stepped onto the porch, Nakamura bowed in deference. "Suzuki-san, this boy is here to deliver your goods." Nakamura shot a glance at Kenshin, and the red-head took a breath.

"Good afternoon, Suzuki-san. I brought what you requested, but−I had an−an accident on the way over and all of the pieces aren't in g-g-good co-condition." Kenshin almost choked on his words as his eyes lit on a small figure walking up behind Suzuki. He'd seen that annoyingly supercilious face just minutes before.

"What're you doing here?" He blurted before he could think better of it.

Naoki had changed clothes since Kenshin had last seen him, although he was still wearing a frown. His lips curled into a smile though when he caught sight of Kenshin.

"Father, what's this peasant doing here?" He asked, coming to stand at the burly man's side and pointedly looking away from Kenshin. Suzuki−Naoki's _father_?−looked between the two boys.

"You two know each other?"

"Yes," Naoki said loudly before Kenshin could open his mouth. "This peasant ran into me earlier on the road, that's why my clothes were so dirty when I returned."

"When Nakamura-kun dragged you back, you mean." His father grunted. His eyes narrowed then. "Wait a minute . . . so you're telling me some of these pieces are broken because you two were careless enough to run right into each other?"

Naoki nodded fervently. "He wasn't looking where he was going at all."

"Wha- _you_ weren't looking where _you_ were going!" Kenshin retorted. "I was walking! You were running!"

"Hmph, you had plenty of time to move and you just sat there like an idiot." Naoki sniffed.

"How can you−!"

Naoki's father stepped between the boys. "I don't care how it happened, what matters is that you," he stabbed a finger at Kenshin, "brought me broken goods. This is for my daughter's wedding next week! How am I supposed to serve drinks like this?"

Naoki giggled overtly behind his hands and Kenshin's jaw went slack. Was Naoki's father blaming _him_ for what had happened? "I'm sorry, it was an accident. I'm sure my shishou can make some more . . . if I just ask him . . ." He tapered into silence, not liking the words that were spilling out of his mouth like fish from an upended net.

"That's about the only thing you can do at this point." Naoki's father agreed. "You can tell your shishou not to expect extra compensation though. It's not my problem that he sent some incompetent waif to deliver such an important order. In fact, I should think I would get some sort of discount for the extra time this will take."

Kenshin nodded slowly. The day was fast going from bad to hellish. "Should I just take them all back, then? Or-"

"No, no, let me have a look at everything, I'll see if anything's acceptable. Wait there a moment." He pointed at Naoki. "You, back to your studies." Naoki left with a pout, muttering something about Nakamura's incompetence as a teacher.

Suzuki began to remove the moss from the boxes and Kenshin felt his spirits lift. At least half the pottery had held up when he fell. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

It turned out that Naoki's father had high expectations for his daughter's wedding drink-ware. Some of the pieces Kenshin had thought unblemished Suzuki had taken a look at, frowned, then sat aside with a curt "compromised."

Kenshin looked at the first piece pronounced thus, and it took him almost an entire minute to notice the hairline fracture running halfway down the lip of the cup.

 _That_ was compromised?

He bent his head to the floor, studying the deeply polished wood while he waited for Suzuki to finish his assessment. After what seemed an interminably long time, Suzuki sat the boxes aside with a shake of his head.

"Well, there are only two sets in there that are completely intact. I'll take those I suppose, but you tell Hiko-san−he's your master, you say?" Kenshin nodded miserably. "Tell him he'd better get me the rest before my daughter's wedding, or there will be some serious repercussions."

"I'll tell him, sir." Kenshin most certainly was _not_ going to use the words Suzuki had, but he knew he had to tell his shishou what had happened. Making new pieces to replace the broken ones seemed unavoidable, but to spend that amount of time for no pay . . . not to mention the cost of supplies . . .

"I'll be looking for you in no less than six days' time, then." Suzuki turned, indicating the conversation was over. He must have assumed Kenshin would show himself out because he was already moving back inside, carrying the box of unbroken pottery.

Kenshin felt his heart begin to race. He still had to get tofu. He couldn't leave with nothing! "Ano . . ." Suzuki turned halfway, looking over his shoulder. "I know you don't have everything you're supposed to but could you at least pay for the pieces you kept?" _Please say yes, please._ Kenshin didn't know what he would do if the man refused. Not only would he be returning to Hiko with the news that half of his pottery had been broken, he'd be empty handed as well.

Suzuki nodded immediately though. "That's fair." He nodded at Nakamura, who scurried off to return with a handful of coins which he counted into Kenshin's hand.

"Until next week," Suzuki said, his back already to Kenshin.

Kenshin found himself alone with Nakamura and he quickly took his leave, giving a hasty bow before grabbing the boxes of chipped and broken pottery. As Nakamura had closed the gate behind him, Kenshin took a shuddering breath. He never wanted to return to Suzuki Kenta's house again. But he knew he would have to. Maybe he could convince shishou to let him bring his sword next time. At the very least, Kenshin would get some satisfaction from seeing the disbelief on Naoki's face when he saw that Kenshin hadn't been lying.

Shishou . . .

What was Kenshin going to say to him? _I'm sorry_ couldn't cover the barrage of feelings sweeping through Kenshin, and was far too insufficient an apology for what had just happened. But what else _was_ there to say?

Kenshin sighed as he made his way through the market. One thing was certain. Stargazing definitely wasn't going to happen.

* * *

I have this habit of starting my stories slow. Of course, this is more of a leisurely glimpse into the past than a real action/adventure fic, so maybe it isn't as imperative that there's action from the get-go. Out of curiosity, does anyone have an opinion on the matter? Next fic the action begins in chapter 1. Seriously. The plot bunnies are hopping. Get excited.

Thank you for reading! Reviews are appreciated! Scarred Sword Heart and Althea M, thank you for your comments. (I don't see that fanfic . net has guidelines anymore prohibiting in-story responses to feedback. Does anyone know if that rule has been rescinded, or can I just not find it?)


	3. Chapter 3

"You _what_?"

The words were spoken evenly, the voice level save for the inflection at the end, but several veins threatening to burst in Hiko's forehead betrayed the storm brewing underneath. Kenshin stood stoically although he was unable to hold his master's sharp gaze.

He'd debated how best to address the situation as he'd plodded back up the mountain road. Go straight to Hiko and tell him what had happened? Avoid Hiko and head straight for the field and practice first? Hide the boxes of broken pottery in the woods and pretend like everything had gone as it should have?

Kenshin had seriously entertained the latter until he considered that he knew nothing of making pottery, and in the end he would have to ask Hiko about it, and of course his shishou would be suspicious then, and the whole story would come out anyway. So he'd settled on the first idea. Might as well have it out instead of worrying about it the rest of the day.

Still, Kenshin had tried to make as little noise as possible when he'd returned but to his horrified surprise his shishou met him at the door, almost causing his deshi to jump out of his skin.

 _I should've just gone straight to practice,_ Kenshin thought regretfully. It had seemed like a good idea at first, getting everything off his chest as soon as he returned, but now he would gladly postpone the scene that was unfolding, if only for a scant hour. Of course, he reflected, if he'd chosen to practice first, he would've had to come inside anyway to retrieve his sword. Maybe there was more than one reason his master didn't let him take his sword into town . . .

"You 'didn't quite deliver everything'? Tell me I heard you wrong." Hiko still didn't sound truly angry, but Kenshin couldn't imagine that was going to last. Certainly not once he confirmed that his shishou hadn't heard wrong. Kenshin stayed silent, not wanting to know what would happen if he answered.

"Kenshin," Hiko's voice rumbled threateningly, "did you deliver all the pottery or _not_?"

Kenshin felt his eyes burning as the fateful collision from earlier that afternoon replayed itself in his mind. He scrunched his eyebrows together, refusing to cry. Not yet. Not when shishou hadn't even yelled at him.

"No, shishou."

Hiko expelled a long rush of air and his next words were tight and carefully controlled.

"What. Happened."

"Some boy ran into me." Kenshin paused, trying to hide the quaver in his voice. "I tried to get out of the way, but I didn't see him until too late."

Kenshin's cryptic sentence of not delivering everything was suddenly becoming clear, and Hiko found his strained patience jerked to the end of its rope.

"Let me guess, you dropped the boxes the second you two collided." Hiko didn't actually expect that Kenshin would be quite so careless−he'd better not be after almost two years of training−but losing one box off the top of the stack wouldn't be unimaginable. Also, Kenshin was being annoyingly morose. Hiko found that insults tended to light his proverbial fire.

"I didn't!" Kenshin protested, eyes flashing to meet Hiko's. "I didn't drop any of them!" His eyes resumed their study of the floor. "I did fall though. And some of the pottery broke then." Kenshin forced himself to brave his master's gaze again. "I tried to keep them safe, shishou. It was really hard to see though, and−" His eyes widened briefly as he recalled exactly what he'd been doing when he'd thought to look up and check his path.

"And you couldn't figure out some way to safely transport a few boxes into town without looking like a blind fool?" Hiko's sarcastic remark cut into the pause.

"I was looking! But−" Kenshin paused again, not wanting to relay the rest of the story. Shishou had already gotten onto him that morning for not paying attention to his surroundings. To do so twice in one day . . .

"But?"

Kenshin mumbled something so garbled that it was unintelligible even to Hiko's sharp ears.

"What was that, Kenshin?"

"I might have stopped looking where I was going for a minute or two." The words still melted into each other, but the added volume was enough for Hiko to catch the gist of the sentence. He stared down at the boy standing in front of him, and only Kenshin's meek expression kept Hiko from displaying the anger that was surging through him.

"You stopped-" Hiko couldn't even bring himself to finish the sentence. He paused, waiting for Kenshin's eyes to slowly raise and meet his. Hiko waited a moment longer, until he was quite sure his voice wouldn't come out as a roar. "This is not what I expect from a student of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu." He said finally, his eyes holding Kenshin's. A whirlwind of anger was not always the best way to get a point across. Sometimes a stern reprimand was just as effective as an explosion of uncontrolled emotion, and he saw from Kenshin's stricken expression that he had been correct in choosing the former method of correction this time.

"No, shishou. It isn't." Kenshin agreed, his voice a whisper.

"I don't saddle you with chores for my own amusement, or to see you fail," Hiko continued. "I trust that you're able to do what I tell you, and do it correctly. I expect I can rely on you."

"Yes, shishou. I just-" Kenshin heaved a sigh.

"How am I to trust you can master the teachings of Hiten Mitsurugi if you can't follow a simple task I set you to?"

"I don't know, shishou."

"What do you suppose I'm to do now?"

"You'll need to make more." Kenshin said.

"Do you know how long it takes to make a good set of sake vases?"

Kenshin hadn't a clue.

"Two weeks, Kenshin. It takes two weeks to truly craft art of the caliber that is required. I have one."

It really was worse than Kenshin had imagined. He had known a week wasn't long, but he had thought his shishou would be able to pull off the request with nary a worry. It hadn't occurred to him that even Hiko Seijuurou had his limits.

"Two weeks." Kenshin echoed heavily. "I'm sorry shishou." An idea blazed in Kenshin's mind then, and he looked at his teacher, voice rising with hope. "Two people would make it go faster though, right, shishou?"

"Of course it would, but I don't know where-" Hiko stopped when he saw the eager look in Kenshin's eye.

 _Oh, no . . ._

"I can help make them, shishou! I'll do whatever you tell me! I can still train, too."

Hiko eyed the small portrait of earnestness in front of him and squashed his optimism with a brusque, "No." It was a nice idea, but the thought of letting Kenshin so much as set a finger to his clay made him shiver inwardly. It was more likely Kenshin would set him back even further, rather than hasten the process.

Hiko sighed when his refusal elicited a slump in Kenshin's thin shoulders. "You can't learn pottery in a day, Kenshin. Even I'm not a brilliant enough teacher to teach that."

"But I want to do something." Kenshin wasn't sure he'd said the words aloud, but realized he must have when Hiko responded.

"Oh, you'll do _something,_ alright. I'll need more clay, and plenty of water, and some more dyes as well."

"I'll get them, shishou." Kenshin said fervently, relieved there was something he could do to at least partially redeem himself.

Hiko regarded the boy with a shake of his head. Rushing to complete almost an entire set of drinking ware was not how he had envisioned spending the upcoming week. The annoyance he'd been feeling towards his deshi surged close to overpowering, and Hiko concentrated on taking several deep breaths, forcing his mind to work logically. Yes, this was definitely irksome, but nothing to be done about it now. The knowledge didn't really help quell his feelings but Hiko had already thought of something that would settle that, and it involved getting a few laughs at Kenshin's expense. That never failed to put him in a better mood.

"Alright, baka deshi, we'll start on it first thing tomorrow. Now get your sword and head down to the riverbed." Hiko flashed a grin that looked more sinister than inviting. "Time for some training. I'm going to teach you that new technique after all."

* * *

It turned out that crafting pottery was harder work than Kenshin expected, although it started out slow enough. The day after Hiko learned the fate of his commissioned works was fairly relaxed. Apparently, the pottery Hiko had crafted hadn't been made from just any clay, but from porcelain imported from Amakusa, a town almost on the tip of Japan's southern coast.

Leaving Kenshin to his forms and practice, Hiko made an early morning trip into town to visit his favorite pottery merchant. The wedding commission had required enough raw porcelain that Hiko had bought out the vendor's supply several months prior, and he now made the trip with every expectation of ordering more. Serendipitously, the vendor informed Hiko that another shipment had been ordered nearly a month ago, and should be arriving within the next day or two.

Of course, that left ample time for Kenshin to be drilled on the latest Hiten Mitsurugi move in his repertoire: ryu kan sen. He suspected his shishou was being inordinately vindictive about it too, because no matter how fast Kenshin seemed to swing his sword, he was rewarded with a stinging blow and the taciturn comment, "slow." The perceived injustice of it lured Kenshin into telling the swordmaster he was turning as fast as he needed to. That little act of defiance had been a whopper of a mistake. Hiko had riposted that if that was the case, he would stop holding back his own speed. The bone-numbing hits Kenshin received after saw his entire midsection black and blue by the end of the day. Lucky for him, his master only went full speed for six rounds.

Two days later, nursing an impressive collection of bruises and wounded pride, Kenshin had been sent on a mission to find suitable material for glazes. At least, Kenshin _thought_ Hiko had said something about glazes, in between talk of gathering bark from ash trees and digging for small animal bones. It was an odd assignment, to be sure, but he'd pledged his determination to help, so he listened without question (maybe he'd made a face or two) and set off into the woods when his shishou indicated his instruction about the _exact_ size of bones and texture of bark was over.

Finding ash bark was simple. Kenshin knew the location of several ash groves spread throughout the nearby forest, and he could have found his way to at least one of them with his eyes closed. He stripped enough pieces to half fill the wooden bucket swinging from his fingers, then set to the more meticulous task of finding animal bones.

It took more thought and undirected wandering than finding ash bark, but Kenshin managed to gather a sizable cache of bones over the course of several hours. The first half hour proved fruitless, as he spent the entire time searching the ground before realizing he'd have to be more clever than that. He spent another ten minutes searching his memory, trying to think of what types of things besides bad luck and nature would kill small animals, and where they would leave bones.

Hours later he was traipsing back to Hiko's hut, happily regarding the small off-white collection of miniature skeletons he'd managed to scrounge from two fox dens and an owl's roost. He thought the little cache fairly impressive, but had a looming doubt that maybe it wasn't quite enough for Hiko's needs.

It turned out Kenshin's worries were ill-founded, and no sooner had he delivered his collection (not without uncertainty) than Hiko set him to mixing an assortment of ingredients. Kenshin tried earnestly to listen to Hiko's detailed explanation of what, exactly, was in there, but he got lost somewhere in between "water" and "clay." Thankfully, he didn't need to comprehend how the different liquids and powders worked together in order to mix them. He did have to keep an eye out for any lumps−twigs, pebbles or other debris that might interfere with the mixture's smoothness−but after little more than an hour he'd found and removed all detritus, and the mixing became less than engaging.

Kenshin fast lost interest with the seemingly endless process of culling and mixing, and he turned a surreptitious eye on his master, taking careful note of the colors and quantities of ingredients that Hiko blended with sure movements. One never knew when they might be expected to give an explanation of pottery making, despite the fact that Hiko wasn't verbally volunteering much information. Kenshin was getting used to picking up skills visually.

The porcelain arrived the following morning, as promised, and the next several days alternated between endless, monotonous mixing, quick trips to the fiery kiln, and still more mixing. In between rounds of pottery-making, Hiko sent Kenshin on several long-distance runs, in addition to assigning him various moves to perfect and a number of kata to review. To Kenshin's relief, there was no sparring, so he stuck to practicing ryu kan sen on the training dummy.

The young swordsman had never imagined that pottery-making could be so exhausting. Not only were his days filled with training and pottery production, his nights grew longer as a result. He found himself crawling into his futon long after darkness had set, and still he rose with the sun, yawning and bone-weary.

It didn't occur to him that his master wasn't even bothering with sleep, until once when he was startled awake by a loud clatter, followed by a soft curse. Kenshin had noticed the lack of Hiko's snores, and more curious than afraid, he had tiptoed to the door. Peering out into the grayness of early morning, he'd seen his master one-handedly steadying something between his legs, a brush held in the other hand, and a jar on the ground next to him. The kiln still burned hotly, casting orange shadows across Hiko's features. Kenshin had yawned, and crawled back to bed.

One week later Kenshin was literally dragging himself off his futon. He reached blindly for his sword while scrubbing at his eyes, then fumbled his way towards the door, tripping over his sword that he hadn't yet managed to tie at his side. He _needed_ the cold water on his face this morning or he would never be able to function. This fact made itself abundantly clear when he collided with his master, who was entering the cottage just as Kenshin made a feeble swipe at the door.

"Sorry, sh'shou," Kenshin mumbled, picking himself up off the floor and trying to maneuver around the mass in front of him.

Hiko regarded him briefly, eyes flicking from Kenshin's feet to his face. "You look terrible." He remarked conversationally, then pointed Kenshin in the direction of the outside water trough. "Go wash up, then meet me out front."

Kenshin nodded affirmation, and continued making a crooked path to the side of the hut, managing to tie his sword on in the process. The grass tickling his feet and the chilled water on his face worked wonders, and although he still felt like he could sleep for several days if the opportunity arose, his mind had cleared enough for him to at least function.

"I'm done, shishou," Kenshin announced as he stepped out from behind the cottage, "what did you-" Kenshin's eyes widened and his speech drifted to a halt.

Hiko Seijuurou was standing in front of the cottage, arms folded, impeccably white mantle waving gently behind him, a smug look of pride on his features. Indeed, a paradigm of manly perfection, but not actually what had grabbed Kenshin's attention.

"Look closely, Kenshin," Hiko's tone matched his expression. "This is the well-earned reward of pure genius."

Kenshin knew it wasn't his deshi's genius Hiko referred to. Still, he felt a glimmer of pride as he gazed at the objects before him, carefully placed on flat boards elevated off the damp ground by stones.

Beautifully crafted cylinders of varying sizes were lined in a row, their porcelain sheen emphasized by the soft morning light to such a degree that they seemed to glow. Awed by the glistening patina background, Kenshin's eyes gradually focused on the burst of color at the forefront of each piece. A delicate spray of plum blossoms graced a fraction of each drinking cup, the red-and-purple petals a pale enough shade that they melded effortlessly into the cups' body. The knowledge that his master could create something that looked as if it had been crafted by the gods left Kenshin feeling as astonished as he was inexplicably proud.

"They're−they're amazing, shishou!" Kenshin breathed after several seconds of reverent silence.

"Yes, they are something for only a week's time," Hiko's pleased expression was marred by a faint grimace then, and his eyebrows lowered a fraction as he said, sotto voce, "I'd hoped for more color on the blossoms, but-" He shook the thought aside, and his voice took on its normal volume again. "Never mind, it's more than good enough for Suzuki."

He turned to Kenshin, smug manner abruptly replaced by businesslike briskness. "You're to deliver them today, as soon as you're ready. And Kenshin," Kenshin didn't need to hear the rest of the warning the raised tone implied, but it came anyway. "If you so much as scratch one of these, you'll live to regret it for the rest of your life."

Whatever _that_ meant, but Kenshin had no desire to find out. His shishou might deliver ambiguous threats at times, but those threats had never proved any less awful than a clearly stated one.

"I'll be ready in just a minute, shishou." Kenshin promised, heading again towards the trough on the side of the house where the night-chilled water rested. He wasn't taking any chances today. After one more splash in the face, he felt prepared to take on the task before him, so much so he even found himself wondering if he might have time to ogle some of the vendor's wares before he returned.

Catching his mind wandering already, Kenshin frowned. No, until the package was safely out of his hands, he wasn't going to think about anything else. He sat inside the doorway to pull his zori on, lacing them firmly, then stood, shoulders set back as he walked outside to find Hiko.

His shishou stood with crossed arms where Kenshin had left him, squinting up at the sky, the box of porcelain on the ground next to him. Hiko glanced down as Kenshin sidled over and lifted the package with exaggerated care.

"Hnh. A good start at least." Hiko turned to reenter the hut, throwing over his shoulder almost as an afterthought, "And unless you want to get caught in a downpour, I'd suggest you make haste."

Kenshin raised his gaze to the heavens, noting the swarm of gray clouds jousting with the pillows of white. The sky would be dark by the afternoon from the looks of it. "Hai, shishou." Kenshin adjusted his grip slightly and took a breath.

He was ready. And his shishou hadn't said anything about the katana at his side.

* * *

Kenshin made off with his sword. Heh heh. You think Hiko noticed? If anyone was wondering, I did way too much research about all aspects of pottery for this chapter, and have officially gotten my fill of pottery making for a lifetime. I even casually interviewed a potter at a Japanese festival about it. HA. I'm pretty sure he thought I was crazy. If anyone ever asks me if I want to go to a pottery class, I will find a jar and throw it at them.

A/N: Well, this is amusing. I had a little note/rant about Kenshin's age, which I jokingly ended with "/ end rant." And end rant it did when I hit the "save" button. In brief, I was saying to any who are confused or wondering: I hold the belief that Kenshin was 7 when Hiko took him in. I won't rewrite everything, but Hiko says the Black Ships came into Japan (1854) two years prior to him meeting Shinta. Yes, I know he also mentions several times during the Kyoto arc that it's been "19 years" since he last saw Kenshin. Clearly, either his past or present self is having issues concerning the passage of time. I think it's his present self. That much sake will catch up to you eventually. ;)

Thank you kind reviewers for your comments! All comments welcome! Anything you particularly like/dislike? Are confused by? Think needs to be fleshed out more? Would like to see more of? As Aretha would say, sock it to me!


	4. Chapter 4

Our story hits its median. I anticipate 4 more chapters.

* * *

Kenshin made the trip down the mountain and into the village without a hitch, the weight of his sword bumping lightly against his leg a source of gratification and affirmation. Shishou must consider him a _real_ swordsman now. Kenshin was fairly certain his katana hadn't gone unnoticed. Shishou noticed _everything_. The only explanation for his lack of comment was that he trusted Kenshin enough to allow him this privilege.

As Kenshin stopped in front of Suzuki's, glancing up at the sun, he noticed with some pride that the journey couldn't have taken him more than thirty minutes. He'd transported the pottery safely _and_ quickly. The sky was definitely darker though, and a cool breeze rippled across the ground as he appraised the sky. He'd better make just as good time back up the mountain, or risk becoming caught in a summer downpour.

Carefully setting the packages down in front of the gate, Kenshin reached towards the greeting bell and grabbed the string that swayed in the breeze. He gave his wrist a sharp flick and the little bell jangled brightly. Thirty seconds passed, and deciding that no one had heard, Kenshin reached out to ring the bell again. Just before his fingers touched the string the gate flew open, a harried-looking Nakamura behind it.

"Oh, good, Suzuki-san was wondering when you were going to get here." Nakamura glanced behind him at something Kenshin couldn't see. "Naoki-kun, I see you there, you'd better not run off again! Naoki!" Nakamura half-faced Kenshin again. "I'm sorry, I need to-" A growl escaped him as his eyes flicked sideways. "Oh, that twit, thinks he can get away with anything just because his father -" Nakamura seemed to remember that a guest was in front of him, and he stopped abruptly, heaving a sigh and motioning at Kenshin. "Come, we'll have Suzuki-san inspect them as quickly as possible and have you paid and on your way." He began muttering under his breath then, and Kenshin tried to ignore him, although he caught several mentions of "spoiled brat" and "holy terror."

Thankfully, Suzuki-san found all items satisfactory, and Kenshin heaved a sigh of relief as he passed through the bamboo doors with money safely tucked into his sleeve. Now, to make it back before the heavens let loose . . .

The gate to Suzuki's manor had hardly closed when something small and hard connected with the back of Kenshin's head. Kenshin reached a hand up reflexively and turned with a frown. What in the world-?

Instinct told him to duck, and he barely managed to avoid a second missile aiming straight for his forehead. Pained curiosity fast gave way to anger as his eyes followed the path of the object and landed on an all-too-familiar dark-haired boy with a malicious smile on his face.

"Naoki." Kenshin growled under his breath, catching sight of the slingshot Naoki held loosely in his left hand.

The boy smirked at him. "At least you dodged _one_ of them, peasant. I thought swordsmen were supposed to be able to know when someone was attacking them. Ya know, _without_ having to turn around and look."

"You couldn't even dodge one I bet!" Kenshin shot back. "And I didn't see you until _after_ I ducked so I did know without looking."

"Yeah right, of course you'd say that."

"Well why don't you try it then?" Kenshin blurted, forgetting that he should probably be hightailing it back to Hiko's hut lest he risk more of his shishou's wrath.

Naoki looked uncertain, and Kenshin guessed he wasn't used to being so openly confronted.

"We can have a tracking competition." Kenshin was thinking fast. "In the woods, it's not far at all, and you run off all the time."

"You would too if you had to put up with my father and that dolt Nakamura." Naoki grumbled, but he seemed interested in Kenshin's proposition. "Rules?"

"One minute to separate." Kenshin paused, recalling aspects of his training. "Then we play three rounds, and another minute to separate at the end of each round. Best out of three."

Naoki gave a sharp nod. "You're on, peasant. It's only fair to let you know that I've been in these woods plenty of times, so you're at a disadvantage." There was that haughty, superior tone again. It didn't bother Kenshin as much this time though, because he knew _he_ had the advantage. _Know your surroundings_ was something shishou never failed to reiterate. Kenshin had run these woods as good as blindfolded before, and already he had a location in mind that he wanted to lead Naoki.

"At least you have your sword this time." Naoiki nodded to the weapon at Kenshin's waist. "But you're probably at a disadvantage with that too. You have to be close to use that thing. Whereas with this," He waved the slingshot, "I can hit you fifty paces off!"

"We'll see." Kenshin shrugged, mood already brighter at the anticipation of giving Naoki his due. He could almost taste the inevitable sweet revenge.

"Alright then, one minute." Naoki glanced skywards. "And let's hurry this up, it's lunchtime already, and I hate being caught in the rain."

The boys paced off, and both Naoki and Kenshin rushed to signal the start.

"Ready . . ."

"Set . . ."

"Go!" The last was yelled in unison, and a puff of dust rose in the air as the boys made for opposite directions. Kenshin was careful not to move _too_ fast. He wanted Naoki to see exactly which way he was going, and even though Kenshin didn't spare a glance at his competition he knew the other boy wasn't going to be so chivalrous.

When he was sure Naoki had seen the unwavering course he'd plotted, Kenshin lengthened his strides, already formulating the next step of his plan.

It only took him a few minutes to reach the glen, and he spent the first thirty seconds with his hands on his knees, taking several deep breaths. He was more excited at the prospect of retribution than he was winded, and he didn't want his anticipation destroying anything.

Straightening, Kenshin did a quick canvass of the small clearing, looking for the best perch to set up an ambush. He'd discovered the place by accident a year ago, trying to find his way back from one of shishou's crazy wilderness survival lessons. Kenshin had managed to find his way back, because the narrow river that gurgled nearby adjoined the stream that ran a quarter mile from Hiko's hut. It had been a stroke of luck when he'd stumbled upon the place, and he was glad he'd thought to go there today. The only thing that would make defeating Naoki any sweeter would be shoving him into the water afterwards. It was only early summer but the water would be cold, thanks to the melted runoff from the mountains. Even in August the water stayed cool. One swing with the flat of his sword should send Naoki sprawling into the chilly waters. Kenshin already had a mental picture of how the fight would end, and it involved him benevolently accepting an apology as he stood over a sopping, contrite Naoki.

His eyes lit on a twisted pine that rose not five feet from the river's edge.

 _Perfect_.

Kenshin checked that his sword was secure, then scrambled up the pine. Unfortunately, the first branch was rather high off the ground, and he collected a fair amount of scrapes as he made his way there. The branch was too skinny to comfortably sit on so Kenshin opted to squat, balancing on his toes with unerring precision and using a hand for extra stability. It shouldn't take Naoki _too_ long to find him.

Kenshin automatically glanced upwards at a low rumble. He'd forgotten that the sky that morning hadn't promised anything good. There were no more puffs of white. Gray clouds scudded across now, bringing a cool wind from the east, and he thought he saw a flash of lightning through the screen of pine needles.

Hopefully Naoki would find him soon, or they were both going to be at a disadvantage.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than rain began to fall. Really _fall_ ; his clothes were soaked through in less than ten seconds. Kenshin scowled. He'd have to listen to shishou gripe about his wet clothes now. Not to mention that in this torrent the he'd be walking back up the mountain through a muddy creek, not a road. His zori were going to be a mess by the time he returned.

Kenshin sighed and hunkered as much as was possible under the flimsy boughs that rattled above him. Rain cascaded down his face and he shoved his lank bangs aside angrily as the water's weight dragged them over his eyes. "Come on, Naoki-chan." He muttered. He hadn't hidden that far away; even if Naoki was horribly inept at tracking, he would be able to find Kenshin if he didn't wander too far into the woods.

He heard a sneeze then, and Kenshin's head whipped sideways to find the source of the sound. There, looking miserable but vehement as he stalked along the treeline, was Naoki. His black hair hung in limp strings down his back, and his brightly colored clothes were dulled by the sheets of rain.

A thrill of excitement ran through Kenshin, and he shivered, brushing his hair aside again and readying his weapon. He would only use the flat of his blade, but he would make sure it stung.

Naoki's feet slipped inches from striking range, and Kenshin waited impatiently as he slowly rose, muttering and swiping at the mud that now stained his clothes. He kept on, stomping as he walked in an attempt to lose the thick clay that clung to his zori. Then he was directly in front of the pine where Kenshin sat.

"Prepare yourself!" Kenshin shouted, springing from the tree with all the grace of a nine-year-old schooled in Hiten Mitsurugi.

Naoki stumbled backwards, falling again as Kenshin landed unsteadily in the mud in front of him, choosing to hold his sword in defensive rather than attack. Some distant part of his mind registered a light pressure at his sleeve, and the faint _chink_ of metal. He was immune to distraction though, wholly concentrated on his imminent victory. "Looks like you lost." Kenshin said snidely, pointing his sword as he walked towards Naoki. The other boy fumbled on the ground, slingshot gripped in one hand.

"Oh yeah, peasant?" Naoki growled. "Don't get too cocky. I've got a weapon too." With more speed than Kenshin would have guessed possible, Naoki placed a chunk of clay in his slingshot and let fly at Kenshin's face. Kenshin managed to dodge it, just.

"Missed," He said smoothly, "I guess that-"

"I wanted it to," Naoki retorted.

Kenshin saw the rock in his hand too late, and even though he threw himself sideways, the projectile smashed into his left eye. He heard Naoki's condescending laugh, and rage filled him. Kenshin jumped to his feet, lunging towards Naoki as he did so with an inarticulate cry.

"Woah, fair's fair!" Naoki's face still held a smirk though, and Kenshin didn't hold back as he swung the flat of his blade at the boy's cheek. Naoki shrieked as he fell towards the river, and Kenshin returned his sword to its sheath with an overstated shove.

"You can admit defeat now." He said, turning to gloat at Naoki, who was doubtless floundering in the shallow water. Kenshin's eyes widened as he looked at the river. Or rather, where the river had been. The slow-moving stream of water he'd passed not twenty minutes earlier was now a torrent of mud and debris, widened nearly two meters by the sudden rain. Naoki was nowhere to be seen. Kenshin raced to the water's edge, eyes searching frantically for some sign of his rival.

"Naoki! Where are you?" His gaze caught on a blur of color. Naoki's vest had snagged on a fallen branch, and the cloth rippled violently as Naoki floundered, trying to keep his head above the water. "Just . . . hold on!" Kenshin skidded down what was left of an embankment, kicking off his shoes as the mud sucked at them. Water swirled around his ankles.

"I can't get up!" Naoki's voice was tinged with hysteria as he tried again to pull himself to shore. He was having trouble maintaining his grip on the branch for any length of time though.

Kenshin did a quick assessment of the situation. There wasn't anything he could toss at Naoki to pull him up with, and the distance from the shore to the unfortunate boy was out of Kenshin's arm reach. He could only think of one thing. "Hold on, I'll cut a branch for you!"

Naoki's head ducked under the rushing water for a moment, and he came up coughing and spitting. "Just come help, this is breaking! Get out here and **help**!"

Even as he spoke Kenshin saw that the branch tangled about his clothes was bending to the point of snapping. There wasn't time to find anything else. "Grab my sword!" Kenshin inched into the water, the mud impeding his progress. He managed to close the distance a foot before leaning over the water as far as he dared. He held his sword out to Naoki.

"Are you cra-" Water washed over Naoki's face and he spluttered. "Are you crazy? I'll cut myself!"

Kenshin thought it was hardly the time to worry about relatively superficial cuts, but nevertheless he flipped the hilt towards Naoki, wincing as the blade bit into his own hand. "Here! Grab it, quick!"

Naoki lunged towards the lifeline just as the branch holding him cracked loudly and was swept downstream. "Pull me in!" He gasped.

"I'm-trying!" Kenshin huffed. The water pulling at Naoki was stronger than Kenshin anticipated, and Naoki was no feather-weight. Kenshin found himself sliding inexorably further into the churning waters.

"Come on!" Hysteria tinged the words.

Kenshin gritted his teeth. "Hold still, you're making it harder!" His feet shifted in the mud and he almost lost his balance. He slipped into a controlled slide though, feeling the water rising to lick at his knees. The small rivulet of blood oozing from his palm made it nigh impossible for him to keep a grip on his sword. "Try and swim in, my hand's slipping!"

"I can't swim!"

Kenshin braced himself as best he could and heaved the sword in a two-handed grip, trying to inch his feet backwards by miniscule amounts. Naoki threw himself forwards, hands outstretched. Had he been less panic-stricken, he could have crawled safely to shore and that would have been the end of the matter. Naoki was desperate to get out of the water though, and as Kenshin was heaving a sigh of relief and putting his sword away, Naoki grabbed his leg for unnecessary purchase.

"Naoki-!" Balance already tenuous, Kenshin was unable to stop himself from falling headlong into the rushing waters, despite vigorous flailing. Just before he went under, he caught sight of Naoki's mud-streaked face looking at him with stricken remorse.

The sensation of being swept forcefully away was startling, but instinct kicked in, and Kenshin clawed his way to the surface quickly enough, trying to bring his wounded hands above the relentless sting of cold water. Grudgingly, it crossed his mind that he should thank shishou for the swimming lessons.

Determined to make the best of things, Kenshin struck out for shore, biting his lip each time his cut palms dipped into the water. He thought he could hear Naoki calling from far away, but he studiously ignored him. He didn't even care if Naoki thought he had won the skirmish. Kenshin was done engaging with him.

It occurred to him two seconds later that perhaps he should have indulged Naoki one last time. But hindsight never arrives when needed. The sudden blow to Kenshin's head allowed him one heartbeat of regret before leaving him swirling face down, at the mercy of the swift-moving water.

* * *

Whew. It seems everything I write that's longer than a one-shot has to have some horrible calamity in it. It's like a magnet for my imagination. "Must . . . write . . . mini disaster." Ah well, just go with it.

Uh, those innocuous rivers that suddenly turn into raging death-traps? Yeah. Got to ford one of those once in Costa Rica. It was INSANE. This little creek-creek, two inches deep, TOPS-rose to over four feet and got three times as wide from a morning downpour. WTH. It was seriously unbelievable. I just thought it was always like that, and then I came back the next day and it was this tiny little stream. Speechless. Sorry for the thin thread of relevance there, but I thought it might be of interest.

 **Zori** : Japanese sandal. I guess "shoe" would have sufficed, but it just made me think of tennis shoes. So I went with zori.

 **Thank you readers, and super thank you to reviewers! I appreciate your comments! Stay with me for a few more chapters, minna.**

ZukoFlame, your readers need an updaaaaate! What is happening to our red-haired samurai?! And thank you for the review!


	5. Chapter 5

Somewhat shorter than previous chapters, but it was necessary to set up what comes next.

* * *

The new moon's silvery glow was one of nature's beauties that Hiko never failed to admire. He was amazed it was even visible, given the afternoon's cloudburst. The sky had cleared quickly though, leaving stray wisps of gossamer to float across as it darkened. The moon looked exceptionally radiant—almost a blue moon—and Hiko had been gazing up at the heavenly orb and its shining halo since the storm-hastened nightfall, sake dish in hand. The celestial display had him feeling inspired enough to pen a haiku. Hiko's lips moved ever so slightly as he murmured experimental phrases under his breath.

 _tsuki to kaya_

 _kagayaiteiru_

 _yoru no natsu_

Damnit, his sense of meter was off tonight. It was nothing he wanted to put on paper; far from his best efforts. Admittedly, he was distracted. There went his foot again, moving of its own accord. Hiko forced himself to stop. He'd caught himself tapping it distractedly throughout lunch. The lunch he shouldn't have eaten alone but finally did, because he wasn't going to sacrifice his meal just because his apprentice hadn't deigned to show.

Where the hell was that impudent deshi? It had been almost seven hours now since he'd sent him off with the re-fired wares. He'd even gone so far as to warn the little imp that he was going to get caught in a storm if he didn't hurry, and what did his baka deshi do? The exact _opposite_ of what he'd been told. Typical. Hiko found Kenshin's lack of common sense reared its head at the most inopportune times.

Storm or no storm, Hiko had expected Kenshin to dawdle a bit once in the village−the boy loved to gawk at everything the vendors were selling−but he hadn't expected him to take this long. It was more or less suppertime now. He was not only trying Hiko's patience and benevolence; he was wasting valuable training time. The boy's ryu kan sen was slower than a turtle, and now that every waking moment wasn't consumed with pottery-making Hiko intended to drill him aggressively on it for the next two weeks. At minimum. And if his student gave him the same impertinence as last time . . .

Hm, perhaps a subconscious knowledge of impending—corrections—was the reason Kenshin chose to spend an inordinately long amount of time in town. Or maybe he had been forced to endure a diatribe from Suzuki about carelessness, and decided he may as well wait out the rainstorm there. Something akin to that was probably the case. Well, Hiko supposed it wouldn't kill the boy or hamper his training too much if he let him waste the evening away, so he forced all thoughts of his student from his mind. He was done moon-gazing though. The utter mediocrity of his haiku had stripped his appreciation of it for the time being.

Hiko drained the saucer's remaining liquid and stepped towards the hut to clean up for the evening. He stopped midstride, senses suddenly springing fully aware. He felt the sliver of ki a full minute before he heard the announcing shout, and ten seconds later a disheveled man appeared at the tree line, running unevenly as he pressed a hand against his side. The other hand carried a guttering torch.

"Hiko-sama!" It was as much a question as a bid for his attention.

"I am he." Hiko tamped down the claw of foreboding that immediately grabbed at his chest.

The visitor dropped to his knees and drew his torch-bearing arm across his perspiring forehead, shouting with pain as his lack of foresight left an angry red streak above his eyes.

"Is there a problem?" Hiko's tone was calm, even as his inner voice answered with no lack of acerbity. O _bviously_. But there was no point jumping to conclusions. He'd wait for the man to explain, although the inordinate amount of time he was taking to catch his breath made Hiko want to drag him to his feet and pull whatever story he had to tell from his panting mouth.

"Possibly." There was a short pause as the man heaved another two breaths.

"Out with it then!" Hiko barked, the thin line of patience he'd exercised finally snapping. Well, that came out sharper than he'd intended. Dwelling on the annoying habits of his student always had a way of straining his patience to the max.

"Excuse me, sir." The man stuttered. "Suzuki-san sent me here. Young Naoki-kun was missing for a long period this afternoon, so we sent a search party for him a while ago, just after the storm broke."

Hiko could sense where this was going.

"We found him a half hour ago, wandering the woods with a twisted ankle. He told us he got caught in the storm with another boy, the boy who delivered his father's wedding gift. Suzuki-san said this is your student?"

"Yes." Hiko's voice was terse. "Is the other boy with Naoki?" A silly question, he knew. They wouldn't have sent someone up if he was. Still . . .

"No, sir, we haven't found him. Naoki-kun says he fell into the river pulling him to safety, and that he was hit in the head by a log. He couldn't tell if the boy was knocked unconscious or not. Suzuki-san isn't holding out much hope, but he ordered the search party to continue looking until you were informed as well."

"Thank you for doing so." Hiko was already striding past the man, deliberate calm belied by his suddenly hammering heart. "Where did you find Naoki?"

"West of the creek, above the riverbed about a mile before it meets with the Kamo."

"Please give Suzuki my thanks in aiding with the search." Hiko called, already ten feet into the woods, senses stretched to their fullest. The affirmative response behind him was lost to the air.

It would have been too much to hope for a flicker of his deshi's ki from what was surely some distance, yet Hiko was still disappointed when he sensed nothing. He shrugged his cape further back on his shoulders, and with a growl of annoyance, strode deeper into the woods.

 _Hit in the head by a log_. Ardent as he was about tossing the words from his mind the second they appeared, Hiko found the phrase continued to reverberate through his head. It galled him that the mere possibilities the words implied affected him so. Dwelling on possibilities was pointless, yet he found himself inevitably doing just that. For all he knew, his student was only lost in the darkened woods, trying to make his way back that very minute. With a herculean effort, Hiko focused his mind on the immediate task at hand. He was undoubtedly going to have to walk all the way to the Kamo river.

Damnit.

A haiku came to him, unbidden.

 _Idiot student_

 _The sword that helps everyone_

 _Can't make him smarter_

Yes. That one he could pen down. _You'd better be lost, Kenshin_.

* * *

The soft but persistent chirring of insects woke Kenshin. For a brief moment, he thought he was home. He spent a few languid seconds listening to what he considered a pleasant drone, knowing when Hiko came to wake him all pleasantness would be replaced by monotonous hours of practice.

The dual realizations that his clothes were soaked through and water was rushing across him alerted him to the fact that he was _not_ in Hiko's hut. Eyes springing open, he flailed wildly and ended up with a nose-full of dirt-flavored water. Kenshin relaxed slightly as his feet brushed solid ground, eyes straining to make out his surroundings in the rain-hastened twilight. He became aware of a persistent tugging at his back, and as he twisted around, saw his shirt had snagged on a thin branch still clinging stubbornly to an uprooted tree.

He made to untangle his shirt, but ended up ripping it as his hands were shaking badly. Probably a combination of shock and fear, Kenshin analyzed. Aside from his uncooperative hands though, and a very raw throat (swallowed too much water no doubt), he thought he was well off. He could walk—he took several tentative steps just to be sure—and aside from an awful headache his other aches and pains were minor.

The muddied waters had already fallen several feet, and moving slowly Kenshin waded towards the shore. In the vestiges of daylight it looked like no more than a dark smudge. He tried unsuccessfully to recall how he'd ended up caught on a branch in the river, but he honestly couldn't remember what happened soon after he'd been pulled into the current. His back had been facing downstream, he thought he remembered that . . .

Kenshin reached up to slap a mosquito buzzing in his ear, and ended up yelping as his head exploded with pain. He almost slipped under the water, and only sheer determination kept him from passing out. He raised his hand again, carefully this time, and felt just behind his ear. A generous-sized lump protruded, and as his fingers gingerly marked the perimeter memory came tumbling back. He didn't remember much of what happened because something had slammed into the back of his head almost as soon as he'd fallen into the water. He shivered involuntarily as he realized how much more serious his predicament could have been.

The smudge or land seemed to take forever to reach, but reach it he did. His feet squelched in the thick mud that lined the bank and sucked persistently at his tabi. _How had those stayed on his feet_? Kenshin rested his hands on his knees and took several deep, experimental breaths. His throat still burned, but more worrying was how his muscles trembled even as he stood still. And—was his skin _blue_? It was hard to tell in the dying light, but it didn't exactly look flesh-colored. He didn't _feel_ cold, but maybe that was a bad sign. He did, however, feel more than a little nauseous. Sloshing through the water hadn't been good for his inner ear.

Kenshin drew another painful breath as he assessed the once-sloped bank, now carved into a jagged incline by the flooded waters. He'd have to walk upriver to get back to the village. The ever-uphill climb to reach his master's hut after that would be taxing, but at least he was still by the overflowing tributary and knew his general location. Not something he would brag about to shishou, considering the circumstances, but Kenshin wasn't going to be so choosy acknowledging small accomplishments.

An unbidden image flashed through his mind, and Kenshin's breath hitched. "Naoki . . ." He had almost forgotten how he'd ended up in the river in the first place. Well, at least he knew Naoki hadn't drowned. He hoped Naoki hadn't already made it back and told anyone what had happened. Of course he would skew the story completely, and someone would end up telling Hiko before Kenshin had a chance to explain himself. He wouldn't put it past his master to storm out and find him just to deliver a lecture on how he was smearing the good name of Hiten Mitsurugi.

" _He_ doesn't care if I almost drowned." Kenshin muttered to himself, anger outweighing his pathos over the hypothesized scenario. He knew he was being unfair to his master—Hiko wasn't always completely heartless—but Kenshin was furious at Naoki. He'd offered him his sword, cut his hands in the process, and—panic seized Kenshin then, and his head snapped down, left arm snatching at his side convulsively. The movement threw him into another round of disorientation, but relief suffused him as his fingers closed around the smooth wooden handle of his sword.

Heart still pounding, Kenshin pulled himself up the embankment, making the most of the adrenaline burst. Just that mild effort was enough to make his head spin and engender several dry coughs, and he had to sit down quickly or risk losing his last meal. How long ago had that been now? Fear was swift to encroach on his dissolving anger. What if he couldn't make it back? He'd hardly moved five feet and already his head was swimming so much he couldn't walk straight. His chest ached with each breath, and his silly muscles had only cooperated long enough to climb to higher ground.

Maybe his body just needed a little time to recover before he exerted himself any more. He could spend the night in the woods, uncomfortable as it might be, and find his way back in the morning light. He'd be rested and ready to endure whatever tongue lashing and extra exercises Hiko thought fit to deliver. Yes, that was the best thing to do.

Kenshin considered gathering branches to construct a makeshift shelter, but that idea lasted all of two seconds. He really didn't feel up to doing anything other than collapsing. With that thought in his head, Kenshin pulled himself to the closest thick-trunked tree and curled against it, falling immediately into an uneasy sleep. He was unaware of his breathing gradually becoming fainter and fainter.

* * *

 **A/N** : I penned Hiko's first haiku in Japanese because I wanted the sound of the words, rather than their meaning, to be the focus. Here is the translation: _Moon and Spruce/Glowing/Summer Night._ Obviously, the meaning of the 2nd haiku was the important part. ;)

For those who might not know, **TABI** are the sock-like garment worn with sandals. Think of it as a mitten, with your big toe being the thumb.

 **A/N #2** : Of considerable less importance . . . please forgive any (hopefully nonexistent?) misspellings of "style/school" in previous chapters. It should be "ryuu," as "ryu" means dragon. Lazy editing, I apologize.

Thank you readers and reviewers! Feedback, whether positive, neutral, or negative is greatly appreciated. Reviews are my little writing compass, pointing me to true north.


	6. Chapter 6

Didn't have to work after all this evening, so I had time to finish this!

* * *

Walking through sodden undergrowth was not one of Hiko's favorite pastimes. The speed his mantle dried at—or rather, the lack thereof—greatly encouraged him to stick to cleared paths whenever possible. Of course, the closest thing to a path near the creek was deer and pig runs, so Hiko found himself high-stepping through rain-laden grasses rising past his knees more frequently than he'd like. He'd had already resigned himself to the fact that, unless he wanted to pull on a damp garment the following morning, he'd have to stoke a fire once he got back. And on such a nice summer night, no less. The thought of it sent surges of annoyance through him. He hated—no, perhaps hate was too strong a word—he greatly disliked what he considered extraneous wastefulness. And fires on temperate nights were one of those things.

Hiko was flush with the creek now, and he estimated he'd walked close to a mile at this point. He still had a couple more to go before the creek met with the Kamo. Even though he knew the surrounding area like the back of his hand, he was regretting the haste he'd exercised forging into the woods. Even a full moon couldn't completely pierce the thick growth of pine and spruce, and taking an extra minute to ready a lantern would have made things much less tedious. It wasn't like him to have such an oversight. But ever since he'd taken in the little red-head waif formerly known as Shinta, Hiko had discovered many things about himself he'd previously thought anathema to his person. For instance, taking Kenshin under his wing to begin with. If Hiko was honest with himself, at the time he'd found him, Kenshin had been too young to begin training in such a strenuous art as Hiten Mitsurugi. Or if not too young, definitely too damn scrawny. Still, the steadily pulsing ki hidden beneath the boy's war-shocked demeanor had grabbed Hiko's attention. He couldn't just ignore the child, not with an aura so blatantly begging to be molded.

And look where it had brought him. Walking through a tree-darkened forest that appeared to have been hit by a monsoon, looking blindly for his airheaded student who, although he was to be the successor of Mitsurugi Ryuu, couldn't seem to muster enough speed to produce a technically correct ryu kan sen.

Hiko scowled as a fine mist began to coat his face. Of course it would start raining again. If he'd had any hope of returning with his mantle partially dry, it was gone now. Sighing, he pressed on, his own ki reaching out for his student's. A boon he had that at his disposal, or the absence of a lantern really would be rotten luck.

Hiko traveled maybe another mile, the engorged creek always at the edge of his vision, before stopping briefly for a quick assessment of his location. He was close to the bottom of the mountain, and from here the creek continued in a more direct westward curve. The Kamo was close now. Kenshin couldn't be much further. Based on the fact that he hadn't returned home, and that Naoki had already been found, Hiko made the assumption that Kenshin would be closer rather than farther from the river. He had also taken the liberty of assuming that his student was incapacitated to some degree. At this point in his training, Kenshin likely knew the woods better than anyone save Hiko himself. If Kenshin was uninjured, he should have been home long before. That fact was more worrying than the knowledge he'd been swept into the creek.

There were, Hiko decided, two things that could have happened. Option A was fairly cut and dry: the log Naoki referenced had knocked Kenshin unconscious and he'd subsequently drowned, wherein his washed-up body would be found in the next day or two. It was a bleak scenario, but if Hiko was frank with himself, one that held little weight. Kenshin could swim passingly, and was fairly adept at keeping his wits about him in high-adrenaline situations.

Then there was the more open-ended option B: despite said log colliding with his head, Kenshin had kept himself afloat while being swept down the river. Something else would have happened though in order for him to not have returned. Hiko couldn't say what; the debris littering the ground and water offered a myriad of possibilities. Kenshin could have been struck again, dragged down by a submerged limb, thrown about by the current. Somehow though, he would have been injured enough that he couldn't make it back to Hiko's cabin. And if the injury was serious enough that he'd opted not to walk back, he wouldn't have moved far from the water's edge. Any student of Hiko's had better fall into the "option B" category.

But surely Kenshin would've thought to make a smoke signal. _Something_ to show distress. Hiko's eyebrows drew together as his lips tightened. _Note to self: begin lessons in advanced survival skills posthaste_.

A glint at the edge of Hiko's vision gave him pause, and he shifted course minutely, falling into a squat and picking up the small round object that had reflected the moonlight with uncanny timing. He found himself staring at a lone innocuous coin, and his eyes searched the nearby ground for more even as his mind explored the meaning behind this new piece to his puzzle. It might not be his deshi, but it was surely connected to him. Why there was only one coin and not an entire pouch was as yet a mystery, but one he was certain he'd unravel soon. Hiko pocketed the change, thinking wryly that maybe there was a third option after all. Kenshin could be wandering the forest aimlessly with temporary amnesia, carrying a pouch of money one coin short.

Inane as the idea was, Hiko gave it enough credence to wave it aside almost immediately. It didn't fit. The other searchers should have found Kenshin if he was traipsing unthinkingly through the woods. Speaking of which, he hadn't heard or seen anyone since he'd reached the lower half of the mountain. He supposed Suzuki had kept precisely to his words, keeping the search going until Hiko was informed of his deshi's predicament. Hiko held no animosity towards him. The man had been generous; he was under no compulsion to continue to search for a charge not his own. And who wouldn't have the utmost faith in Hiko Seijuurou's ability to do—well, anything involving copious amounts of skill. Finding one boy in a radius of a few square miles should be nothing. Those few square miles were stretching on though. Where _was_ that student of his? If he didn't know better he would've thought Kenshin was deliberately hiding.

It was as if just thinking about Kenshin's whereabouts was the cataclysm Hiko needed, because it drifted over him immediately afterwards—those outer-lying waves of gentle ki enveloping a strong core. And it came from _behind_.

Hiko spun on his heel, not bothering to high-step through the grasses. Somehow he'd walked right past him, but if his sense of Kenshin's ki was right, he should be . . .

 _There_.

Three more paces forward and one to the left, and Hiko found himself eye-to-bark with a sprawling oak, hardly more than ten feet from where the mountain creek fed into the Kamo. And there at the bottom of the oak, curled in a muddy ball and looking small enough that he could easily have been mistaken for a large burl, was his bedraggled looking deshi, sword still at his side.

It took Hiko only a moment to understand why he'd practically stepped on his student before being able to hone in on his ki. Kenshin's aura was behaving quite strangely, oscillating between the steady, solid presence familiar to Hiko and a weak thrum that was hardly detectable.

The swordmaster frowned. Ki fading in and out while a person was unconscious, no matter the means they reached that state, was not good. Dreams, even powerful ones, shouldn't affect the strength of one's aura to that degree. Something was seriously wrong.

"Kenshin." Hiko pitched his voice calm and low, waiting a few seconds for a response. When none was forthcoming, he tried again.

"Kenshin." On any other day, that tone would have had Kenshin springing to attention. The boy at the base of the tree didn't even flinch, but continued to lay unmoving.

Hiko knelt down and reached a hand towards Kenshin's arm, cursing again the absence of any useful amount of light. He'd intended to give his deshi a slight shake, and see if that would be any more efficacious at waking him, but found his hand tightening instead around the boy's slim arm. Hiko wasn't schooled in the healing arts any more than the average man needing basic knowledge to tend minor wounds, but he knew what a stable body temperature felt like, and Kenshin's skin was nowhere within that spectrum. Hiko felt as if he were touching one of his finished vases, cool and sleek.

"Kenshin!" _He can't be_ . . .

Forgoing dignity and any shred of hope that his mantle would survive the night unblemished, Hiko lay flat on the muddy ground, pressing his ear against Kenshin's cheek. A puff of air greeted him, so faint it hardly stirred the strands of Hiko's hair scant millimeters away. But it was there.

Hiko's eyes raked across Kenshin's form, looking for a stream of blood, something that might indicate an incapacitating wound. The muddy clothes and tree cover made it nigh impossible for him to determine much of anything. Hiko glanced towards the river's edge, saw the unadulterated moonlight dancing across the water and spilling onto the clear bank.

Removing Kenshin's sword and tying it at his own waist with quick efficiency, Hiko scooped his student up and traversed the short distance to the water's edge in three long strides. He shrugged his mantle off and laid Kenshin atop it even as it billowed to the ground. He didn't know what type of damage he might find, but he would rather scrub mud from his cloak than tempt fate and end up having to battle a child's infected wound.

A swift but thorough inspection revealed no major injuries, which was at least something to be grateful for. The moonlight revealed Kenshin's left eye was bruised and swollen, and a shallow split ran along his eyebrow, but it seemed superficial. The bruising along his side was several days old but Hiko traced his hands along Kenshin's ribs anyway to confirm nothing felt unnatural.

 _Of course not_ , he told himself smugly. Because despite what Kenshin might think, Hiko _had_ held back while instructing him on the ryu kan sen, even after his deshi's infuriating backtalk. The little idiot would be dead in a heartbeat if Hiko ever truly fought at capacity. He'd put just enough bite into his sword contact so that Kenshin could feel just how lackluster his reverse strike truly was. Hiko applauded his masterful control silently as he continued to examine his student for injuries.

Both Kenshin's palms had clean slices that could only have been made by a sword, and Hiko suspected they might need stitches even though the bleeding had stopped. The oozing goose-egg just under his left ear Hiko took as proof that his deshi had indeed been rendered unconscious by the log Naoki referenced, and been underwater for far too long as a result. Option B with a twist, then.

 _What in hell's name were you doing, baka deshi_.

Hiko sat back on his heels, pushing his mind to recall everything he knew about people who had been submerged for unnatural periods of time. Once, as an apprentice, he'd seen a man pulled from the river. His skin had been hyacinth blue, and he hadn't appeared to be breathing. Someone from the crowd had stepped forward and begun pressing his hands into the man's chest.

Hiko had watched with considerable interest, and he was as surprised as anyone when the prostrate man coughed up copious amounts of water. He'd walked away not fifteen minutes later, none the worse for wear.

Hiko was hesitant to try this on his apprentice though. He'd watched the good samaritan's actions carefully, and although the memory was a decade old, he was positive the man had been pressing on the sternum. The sternum was delicate, especially that of a child's, and too much pressure there would end with catastrophe. Time was of the essence though. Maybe he was imagining it, but Hiko could swear Kenshin's skin seemed to have acquired a pale blue tint. Or maybe he just hadn't noticed before. Either way, it certainly didn't feel any warmer. Better to risk a broken sternum than allow the fast-encroaching embrace of the netherworld to get its claws on his student.

Hiko placed steady hands on Kenshin's chest and pressed, watching for any sort of reaction from his deshi. If it seemed even for a second he was using too much pressure—but Kenshin gave no sign Hiko was using excess force. In fact, he didn't react at all, save for the off-kilter jerk of his head with each thrust Hiko performed.

 _Damn it all, Kenshin_. The man Hiko had observed made it look simple, effective. Simple, Hiko could acknowledge. As to the perceived effectiveness . . .

He tried again, muttering invectives under his breath as he did so. No pupil of _his_ was going to end their apprenticeship like this. _Hiko_ would judge when training was complete. "Don't think you can get out of mastering ryu kan sen that easily." The Hiten master said aloud. He paused a second, hands hovering above Kenshin's chest. He thought for a moment . . .

The sound came again, soft and brief, like liquid shushing slowly through an object. Hiko bit back the exclamation that almost slipped out, but allowed a tight smile to spread across his face. Of all the crazy things . . . it was working. He gave Kenshin's chest several more generous thumps, and suddenly found himself drenched in a spray of muddy water, gagging as some of the foul liquid went up his nose. He ignored it though, because Kenshin was coughing his lungs out while water continued to dribble from his mouth. Hiko pulled him to a sitting position, whacking him on the back as he continued to cough. Kenshin threw a hand sideways in an unconscious motion, finding the solid mass that was Hiko's knee and pressing against it for support. The water leaking from his lips finally slowed to a trickle, and Hiko waited for him to take several breaths unaccompanied by water expulsion. Satisfied all the excess liquid had cleared Kenshin's system, Hiko asked,

"Awake now?"

Kenshin's eyes widened as he recognized his benefactor's voice.

"Shishou!" He looked down at his hand, quickly pulled it from Hiko's leg. He seemed at a loss for what to do next, sitting and staring unseeingly at his master while his body trembled. _Shock_? _Cold_? Hiko tried to puzzle it out, decided it was a combination. Kenshin blinked then and expression returned to his eyes.

"I did it, shishou." He must have seen the confusion pass across Hiko's face, because Kenshin elaborated. "I gave Suzuki-san the rest of his gift." His hoarse voice dissolved into a paroxysm of coughing, and Hiko almost laughed. Here he'd just spewed out what must have been two gallons of water, and the first thing he started babbling about was those damn cups.

"Baka deshi, that's not important," When Kenshin opened his mouth to respond, Hiko continued, "Yet. I'd rather hear how you got yourself into this mess. After, I might add, after you were specifically told to hurry before the storm broke." He let his displeasure show. No point letting Kenshin think he was worried. Because he definitely wasn't.

Kenshin gave an involuntary shiver, hands fidgeting in his lap. Hiko's own hand hadn't released Kenshin's arm, but he did so now, pulling the lower half of his mantle from the ground and draping it around the boy's shaking shoulders. _Kuso_. Kenshin's skin was still much too cold. At least he was awake and coherent. Although, if the sluggish movements and responses were anything to go by, that didn't signify as much as Hiko would like it to.

"Ano . . ." Kenshin's head was lowered, but he raised his eyes, peering at Hiko from the cover of his bangs. _This had better be good_ , Hiko thought silently. He already knew it wouldn't be though, not with the way Kenshin was acting. If his deshi's behavior could be any more guilt-riddled . . .

Kenshin's body hadn't quit shaking, and Hiko stood, pulling his katana from its sheath. He caught the flicker of alarm in Kenshin's eyes, smirked inwardly. It mystified him that the boy could be so trusting of him about certain things and yet still retain so many insecurities. He didn't offer an explanation, just lifted his katana and sliced, sending a tree branch falling to the ground. Kenshin jumped as Hiko's sword made contact, but Hiko saw the worry fade from his eyes immediately after. He made note of the fact that Kenshin hadn't noticed his own sword was no longer at his side.

Hiko proceeded to lop several more branches, trimming the topsides off and arranging the somewhat dry remnants in a tepee shape. He pulled a piece of flint from the folds of his pants and crouched down, striking the stone with his sword hilt. Sparks shot out, but they refused to catch. Hiko grunted, then proceeded to filet the pith from several more limbs, throwing the pulp in the middle of his makeshift fire pit.

"So tell me, deshi," Hiko resumed striking the flint with his katana. Finally a spark caught, expanding and bursting into a tiny flame. Smoke pillared skywards as heat met the damp wood. "How did you end up flaunting your master's advice and swallowing half of the Kamo in the process?"

Kenshin swallowed, pulling his master's mantle tighter as if it offered some inner strength. "Because . . . Naoki thinks he's better than everyone else just because he's a samurai's son. I only wanted to prove him wrong." He seemed confident his words would sway Hiko to see his point of view. The look Hiko met him with suggested his optimism was misplaced, and the hopeful look in Kenshin's eye faded. Then he offered a timorous question of a smile and said the most reasonable thing Hiko had heard from him all night. "I made a mistake?"

* * *

 **A/N:** Could you hear the massive sigh of relief I gave at the end of this chapter? I could not get that last paragraph satisfactory for the LIFE of me. It's undergone numerous transformations over the past two days. TWO DAYS on one paragraph! Funny, how the simplest things can sometimes be so frustrating. Anyway, I'm relatively happy with it now, and I knew everyone would want to share my writer's angst. ;)

A forewarning about the next chapter: I am still doing some serious fleshing out, so the update window will likely be longer than it has been. I'm also kicking around about three plot bunnies, one of which I have actively started writing. I'm considering throwing out a teaser (think synopsis or paragraph length), hinging on how stressed and indentured it will make me feel. Feel free to weigh in with your opinion on the matter.

 ** _Kuso_** : Shit.

 _ **Ano**_ : Uh, er, um. Just a place-filler word in this case (although it means "that" when followed by a noun).

Thanks to my dear reviewers! Shout-out to **Scarred Sword Heart** and **ZukoFlame**. That's right. I will place your name in bold if you leave a review. Tempting, isn't it? If you're unsure what exactly to _say_ in a review, here are some things I would love feedback on:

What you did or didn't like, and why; if anything stood out in a particularly good or bad way; your impression of chapter/story flow and progression.

Basically, "writer things" that will help me improve on future chapters and stories. Yes, I realize leaving thoughtful reviews are WORK, and I'm guilty of not always leaving them myself, so thank you in advance!


	7. Chapter 7

I'm driving from Florida to the top of Texas tomorrow ('neath that Amarillo sky!) and will be MIA for a couple of days as a result. So I wanted to get a chapter out before then! I hope to finish the final chapter over the next two weeks before I return.

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Kenshin's rendition of the day's "mistake" was told through soft, halting speech interspersed with liberal coughing, but Hiko could fill in the gaps well enough to get the gist. The initial insults and taunting that had led to his deshi initiating the childish battle; the little bastard's—Naoki, Hiko corrected himself—cheap shot with the rock, and the resulting fall into the river; Kenshin trying to help him out only to have kismet rear its head.

Hiko was fairly certain his face remained in a grimace the majority of the time (although his mask of displeasure had almost cracked when Kenshin described how he'd sent Naoki into the river). The sheer stupidity that had transpired between the two. . .

Talking didn't appear to be enervating Kenshin any more than he already was, rather the opposite, but Hiko saw his face begin to take on a queer expression. "I tried to get to shore like you taught me." Kenshin appeared to swallow, the first time he'd interrupted his tale for something other than coughing. "But something hit my—my head. Then I woke up and it was almost night," Kenshin swallowed twice this time and heaved a breath, "so I just-" He stopped and leaned forward slightly, face twisting as his shoulders hunched. "Shishou . . ."

 _He's going to be sick_. Kenshin certainly didn't look concerned with the logistics of things, so Hiko reached over, pulling his deshi's damp hair back and out of his face. Not one of his more glorious moments, but he was _not_ adding puke cleanup to his list of evening chores. Two seconds later the rest of Kenshin's meagre stomach contents were soaking into the forest floor as he lifted a shaking arm to wipe his mouth.

"Sorry," He said weakly, tugging the mantle tighter across his shoulders again.

Hiko brushed the apology aside as he dropped his hands, thinking briefly about the fact that while Kenshin's body temperature seemed moderately warmer, it was still worryingly cool, despite the steadily burning flames six inches away. "I simply can't fathom that you let some troublemaker get under your skin like that. Where did your self-discipline go?"

"But shishou," Kenshin's voice rose, "He said—he insulted our school! He called me a –a peasant!"

"Oh, well that's a first-rate reason to pick a fight." Hiko snapped. "Being called a peasant. Which you are, by the way. Maybe you forgot that in your haste to prove how much of an embarrassment to Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu you are."

"He didn't believe I was studying kenjutsu." Kenshin muttered. Hiko wondered if he realized just how petty and childish he sounded. Well, the boy was only nine after all. He was bound to sound like a child sometimes.

"So you decided to see if you could drown yourself and prove him wrong?" Hiko's gaze bored into Kenshin, but his deshi glared resolutely into the flames, even though Hiko _knew_ he could feel his master's reprimanding gaze on him. "What a show of superior swordsmanship you must have given. Baka deshi." The epithet carried more exasperation than rancor. Hiko was tired of trying to comprehend his deshi's immature thought process. He turned from his student, taking his own turn staring into the flames. He could see Kenshin in his peripheral, throwing a surreptitious glance at him, and Hiko felt some of the tightness in his muscles release. His deshi's skin was no longer tinted blue, and his shivering had mostly stopped. At least something good was coming out of the heated conversation. Maybe the fire had more to do with it, but Hiko liked to think that a good repartee was just as efficient at warming a person.

"Is Naoki okay?" Kenshin asked timidly. He was back to looking more like a hurt little boy than the plucky kenjutsu apprentice so vehemently defending his actions.

Being reminded of the little samurai spawn was enough to further blacken Hiko's mood, and his reply was short. "He'll live." He thought better of the terse answer though, and continued in a milder tone. "They found him a while ago, with a sprained ankle. It's thanks to him I found you when I did. He mentioned you were still out here."

"Oh."

Hiko threw a sidelong glance, noting the chagrin fairly oozing from his student. Well, his deshi seemed to comprehend the consequences of his actions well enough. And he _had_ come damn near to losing his life trying to reconcile his errors. It couldn't hurt to assuage some of his guilt. Penance could be dealt out at a more appropriate time. "It was right to help him." Hiko threw out nonchalantly. "That is the spirit of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu."

Kenshin blinked in response to the unsolicited nod towards his actions, but then his lip quirked smugly in a way that looked all too familiar. Hiko raised an eyebrow, smothering the instantaneous laughter that welled in him at the sight. Kenshin had picked up a number of his traits over the past several years, but Hiko never failed to be amused at how comedic his expressions looked on Kenshin. Still, he mused, it was somewhat flattering. Good thing he was such a great role model. Wouldn't want his deshi exposed to any undesirable qualities. He had enough of those already.

"There are a couple of other matters we need to address." Hiko made a point to face Kenshin full on, bringing the extra sword at his side into plain view, but even as he turned Kenshin's expression took on the look of a boy who'd lost a beloved gift. His hand flew to his hip, and Hiko nodded.

"You finally noticed." He took the sword from his waist, keeping his eyes on Kenshin as he held it out lengthwise. "Why do you suppose I let you walk off with this?"

"Uh . . ." Kenshin stared at him blankly, and Hiko wondered if it was too generous to hold his recent experience accountable for the sudden vacuity exhibited. "You might not have noticed?" Kenshin finally asked hesitantly. Hiko gave the feeble answer the disdainful look it deserved, letting out an impatient sigh when the thick silence indicated Kenshin wasn't going to venture another guess.

"You must have some idea." Hiko prompted.

"Weeeell, I practiced the ryu kan sen a lot." Kenshin looked to be speaking solely out of obligation. "I thought maybe you . . . might think I was a good enough swordsman now to carry it with me?" Uncertainty colored his sentence.

"The only thing that changed between you _not_ carrying your sword and you carrying it is the amount of strife you caused." Hiko remarked, deadpan.

"So you let me bring it because I kept messing things up?" The look of utter befuddlement whitewashing his student's face had Hiko smacking his forehead mentally. _Good god_. It seemed the more he expected of the boy, the more effort he had to exert to teach him.

"No, baka, I let you bring it in the hopes that it might imbue you with some idea of duty and common sense. Clearly I was mistaken, as you obviously took it to mean you had leeway to initiate a fight over childish insults."

Understanding lit Kenshin's eyes before his expression turned downcast again. Ironically, the pride he'd so desperately wanted to win back by proving his school's merit had instead had the opposite effect. "I didn't think, shishou." He seemed to be saying that a lot recently. "I'm sorry." A soft cuff on the head caused him to look up in surprise.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, baka deshi. It's distasteful." Kenshin eyed the sword Hiko still held out with wary optimism. Here he'd thought it would be another year at least before his master even let him go out of sight carrying a sword, and instead it seemed he was actually being offered the weapon.

"Shishou?"

"Owning up to his mistakes is the only way a man can fully understand all aspects of his craft. It is the first step to mastery." And speaking of mistakes, Hiko hoped he wasn't making a colossal one by allowing Kenshin this small yet significant privilege. Instinct said it was the right thing to do though, and Hiko's instinct had yet to lead him astray.

Kenshin reached a hesitant hand out, eyes drifting from his master to the sword as his fingers closed around it. "I won't start any more fights, shishou." He promised earnestly. Hiko saw the mischief in his eyes as he added, "Even if someone calls you-" Kenshin literally swallowed his words and Hiko smirked inwardly. "-a name." Kenshin finished with a slight stutter.

"And what sort of names would those be?" Hiko asked mildly. "I don't suppose you ever talk to the villagers about me, do you now?"

"N-no, never! Why would I do that?" The swift and over-zealous rebuttal suggested otherwise, but Hiko was only interested in his flustered deshi's reaction.

Maybe he'd made him too flustered. Kenshin was coughing again, and one hand was curled absently against his chest. Hiko really didn't like the sound of that cough; more specifically, the faint noise that accompanied it, like the smallest bit of water still remained somewhere. Hiko had never heard the odd phenomenon before, and he hoped whatever it was would resolve itself without additional intervention. Wanting to get out of the woods as quickly as possible, he reached over and rested a hand on Kenshin's arm, palm down.

Kenshin jerked under the touch, saying something that might have been _what_ , but the word was too garbled from coughs for Hiko to really understand.

"Calm down, I'm seeing if your body temperature is back to normal," Hiko said. He flipped his hand palm up and moved it to Kenshin's forehead. "Close enough at least. It's time to head home." He stood, kicking waves of sandy loam into the fire. Kenshin shivered as the strangled flames winked out of existence, and Hiko watched him closely for a moment. Aside from the disquieting cough, it seemed Kenshin was recovering well enough, but being too cavalier about the state of his student would be as idiotic as nonsensical worrying. "Still cold, Kenshin?"

Kenshin seemed unsure how to respond, and he shook his head, looking puzzled. "Just—tired. Like when you're sick."

Well. Hopefully that wasn't a foreshadowing of complications in the near future. Whether it was or not, the best Hiko could do at the moment was ensure Kenshin had his array of cuts and bruises tended and make sure he got plenty of rest. And that meant getting back to his cabin.

"Up you go, then." Hiko pulled Kenshin to his feet, eyes sharp as he watched Kenshin's reaction to being upright. He managed to stay on his feet, so Hiko bent to retrieve his mantle, giving it a dark look. The damned thing would probably never be completely white again. At least the mud blended relatively well with the red collar and trim.

Swinging his mantle across his shoulders, Hiko turned to address Kenshin again, and blinked when he saw his deshi was already shuffling towards home. The general direction at least, Hiko conceded. "Oi. Keep going that far to the east and you'll end up in Nagoya."

Kenshin paused, readjusted his course. Paused again as his shoulders heaved and another round of coughs shook his frame. Hiko moved to walk alongside him, wordlessly letting Kenshin set the pace and shortening his own long strides to match those of his sluggish student.

Their walk back to the cabin took three times as long as it should have, with Hiko finding it necessary to redirect Kenshin only once more. He might look a wreck physically, but his mental faculties were still intact it seemed. While the trek was mostly a silent affair, it was broken occasionally by Kenshin's coughs which—Hiko offered silent thanks to whatever gods were listening –however explosive, were becoming less and less frequent.

Hiko could tell the last half mile was a strain for Kenshin. Their already snaillike pace slowed even more, and even then Kenshin was taking heaving breaths. Unacceptable in any other situation, but Hiko wasn't going to call him out on it that night. Still, he didn't offer to stop, and Kenshin didn't ask. He did falter at one point, looking sideways at his master like he wanted to ask something, but couldn't work up the courage. Hiko met his gaze evenly.

"Almost there." He knew it wasn't what Kenshin was hoping for. Damned if he'd offer to carry him the last fifty feet though. Hiko had already slogged through the forest in the dark, pumped water out of his deshi's chest, and given what impromptu aid he could. It was Kenshin's own fault he'd gotten into this mess in the first place, and Hiko wasn't about to coddle him for it. Let him learn to deal with the unpleasant consequences.

A grunt of amusement escaped him as he realized the hypocrisy of his own thoughts. Only an hour ago he would have been more than willing to carry the little idiot all the way back, if only to verbally flay him afterwards. Kenshin didn't need to know that though. Better to keep distance and be seen as a stern taskmaster than . . . anything else.

"Shishou? Are you laughing?"

Hiko realized Kenshin had heard his chuckle, and he waved it off. "Clearing my throat." He made a show of doing just that, and Kenshin scowled.

"That's _not_ what you did before."

"No? What did I do then?"

"This." Kenshin proceeded to imitate him with such accuracy that Hiko did laugh out loud, head thrown back in unbridled amusement as he felt the night's tension drain away. It took him some fair seconds to get a hold of himself.

"Not bad, baka deshi. Sounds like you've spent a fair amount of time practicing something other than Hiten Mitsurugi." Hiko caught Kenshin staring at him, mouth slightly open, and his expression settled into a smirk. "What, didn't expect I would find that as amusing as I did?"

Hiko pointed ahead suddenly, and Kenshin could see the clearing where Hiko's cabin lay, thrown into profile by the moon. Hiko's pace increased and he called back at Kenshin as he strode towards the wood stacked against the side of the hut. "Go inside and get your futon out."

Kenshin did as instructed, although by the time he managed to drag his futon from its cubby to the raised section of the floor, Hiko had already brought wood in and coaxed the embers in the fire pit back to life. Kenshin stood next to his futon, watching with tired curiosity as Hiko moved from the fire to rummage among the upper regions of his shelves.

"Ah." Finding what he was looking for, Hiko crossed the room and knelt cross-legged beside Kenshin's futon. When it seemed Kenshin had every inclination to stand unless otherwise ordered, Hiko pointed at the bed mat. "Sit."

Kenshin obliged, too spent to ask questions. The two sat in silence for the next twenty minutes as Hiko meticulously treated Kenshin's hodgepodge of cuts and contusions. Kenshin found himself glancing at his master's face as he moved to each new wound. He didn't know what he was looking for— _if_ he was looking for anything—but it didn't matter either way, because Hiko's face remained unreadable.

Hiko came to his hands last, and as he wrapped swathes of cloth around each one, he cocked his head to catch Kenshin's eyes. "I don't suppose I have to tell you that training for the next week is going to be hell. For a number of reasons."

Kenshin dipped his head in acknowledgement, pulling his hands into his lap as Hiko finished. "By the way," The swordmaster added with studied insouciance, "we're going into the village tomorrow to inquire about my missing fee."

Kenshin's head shot up, weariness magically banished. With everything that had happened, he'd utterly forgotten about the money he'd tucked into his sleeve. He didn't know _what_ had happened to it. If it had fallen into the water—

"O-o-o-h." The memory hit him stronger than the initial event. _That_ had been the tug at his sleeve; the following sound that of coins striking the ground.

"'O-o-o-h' indeed." Hiko echoed dryly. "And before you ask, I already looked. While I did recover this," He pulled the single coin from his pocket, holding it between two fingers to study the dingy bronze circle for a moment, "There was nothing else anywhere near. I guess your friend thought he'd help himself."

"He's not my friend." Kenshin said venomously, oblivious to Hiko's unabashed baiting.

"Ah, rival then?" Hiko teased.

"A student of Hiten Mitsurugi doesn't have rivals," Kenshin said with no small touch of disdain. "He's-"

"Kenshin," Hiko's bantering tone was gone and Kenshin stopped short, falling into a sullen silence. "I want you to take pride in what you do. Pride is beneficial, necessary even. But when it distorts your judgment to the extent that you can no longer truly assess a situation or abilities," Hiko paused, and his next words were delivered with succinct bluntness, "It is deadly." The unspoken _as you almost found out_ hung heavy in the air. For a full minute, only the sound of crackling flames cut the silence. When the words came, they were surprisingly soft, though not lacking gravitas.

"Do you understand?" Kenshin flinched anyway.

"Hai, shishou."

"Good. At any rate, I suggest you make an effort to at least be civil tomorrow, because you're going to be the one talking."

"But—shishou—" Kenshin said weakly, knowing he was battling an argument he'd already lost. "Can't I stay here?"

"No," Hiko said with flat finality. He pulled his own futon out along with a cover which he tossed at Kenshin. "Now go to sleep."

Kenshin didn't know how he _could_ sleep with so much rolling around in his mind, but his exhausted body didn't seem to hold the same doubts. He'd no sooner lain down before slumber grabbed him, warm and dreamless, and he didn't wake until morning.

* * *

 **A/N:** Ehhhh . . . it seems less cohesive to me than previous chapters, but perhaps that's just me going over it numerous times. If I wasn't going out of town, I would probably spend some more time working on it. I felt like I'd lose my rhythm though if I waited several more days to post.

Thoughts on Hiko offering Kenshin his sword? Obviously I found it plausible since I wrote it in, but I realize opinions differ.

Thank you wonderful reviewers! **The Wandering Pen, kokoronagomu, Scarred Sword Heart** : your comments and feedback are great! My day is brightened every time I see that little "review" email pop up.

 **Final chapter** : Kenshin comes face to face with Naoki for the last time, Hiko FINALLY receives his money for all those ceramics he made, and somewhere in there a baka deshi matures a little. Now I just have to finish writing it . . .


	8. Chapter 8

Happy Independence Day, citizens of the U.S. of A.! I'm celebrating by finishing this story, and eating too much bbq and junk food. And of course watching fireworks. Thanks in advance for reading, and enjoy the last installment! I hope the ending is satisfactory.

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The booted foot nudging his arm none too gently the next morning made Kenshin think his master must have forgotten exactly what he went through the previous night. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Kenshin hissed as the aches and pains from the day before fought to be the first to reintroduce themselves. His hands were the most painful, burning whenever his fingers so much as curved towards his palm. Closing them around anything would be a study in discipline.

Reaching across his chest to massage the targeted arm, Kenshin's bleary eyes searched for his master. "You made that hard on purpose." His offended tone was lost on Hiko.

"You're up, aren't you?" Was the deadpan reply.

Kenshin longed for the day he could think fast enough to one-up his master's quips, but until that day arrived, he would have to rely on his most heartfelt glare as a go-to response. Unfortunately, glares weren't as noticeable or impressive as a witty retort, and since Hiko had already turned away he missed his student's attempt to conjure daggers through sheer force of will.

"Eat some rice and daikon." It took Kenshin a moment to realize Hiko was talking to him, but then he noticed the separate tubs of rice and vegetables sitting aside the subdued fire. Kenshin couldn't remember the last time Hiko had cooked breakfast before waking him. That underappreciated fact had ended soon after Kenshin had become Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu's 14th disciple.

Shuffling from his futon to retrieve his bowl and chopsticks, Kenshin glanced towards the window out of habit. The outside light was too bright for it to be early morning, and Kenshin felt a brief rush of gratitude. _Shishou let me sleep in_ _ **and**_ _made breakfast_? He was almost ready to forgive the manner Hiko had woken him, but then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing that day.

The thought of future humiliation weighing heavy, Kenshin reached for the rice paddle, slowly upending a spoonful and watching through an air of gloom as the sticky grains pulled away from the flat serving utensil to land in his bowl with a sad _thunk_. Muttering a less than enthusiastic "ittadakimasu," he listlessly swirled his chopsticks through the rice.

"That is _not_ how I taught you to eat." Kenshin answered the sharp reprimand with a melodramatic sigh and proceeded to spoon rice into his mouth with an indolence that had Hiko's jaw muscles clenching.

"Sulking isn't going to change anything," Hiko said. "Keep that expression on your face much longer and I can think of a number of things that'll change it for you."

Having no desire to find out what said "things" might be, Kenshin schooled his face into a neutral expression and went about eating his breakfast with more haste. He was tempted to dawdle as he set about rinsing the dishes and pulling on his training clothes, but after a quick assessment of his master's face, he deemed it unwise. Hiko didn't seem to be in one of his better moods, and Kenshin wasn't going to tempt fate.

"Hurry up, Kenshin, daylight's burning," Hiko said as Kenshin stood staring down at his still-unshod tabi-d feet. He'd forgotten what had happened to his sandals.

"I don't have my shoes," Kenshin explained, raising his eyes slowly in anticipation of a rebuke. The impatient breath Hiko released was a better response than he'd expected.

"You'll just have to wear your pair from last year then," Hiko said, displeasure evident as he strode to the drawer where he kept items Kenshin had recently outgrown. "Here." He tossed the well-worn shoes in Kenshin's general direction, and Kenshin scurried to catch them before they flew apart.

"My toes are hanging off." Kenshin complained after he'd put the shoes on. He wiggled his feet experimentally, adding, "So are my heels."

"Maybe next time you decide to do something rash you won't be so careless with belongings someone else provided for you." Hiko replied unsympathetically.

Realizing any bids for compassion were going to fall flat, Kenshin didn't say another word as he picked up his sword. It took longer to tie on than usual, what with his hands. He was jumpy with nerves too, his thoughts shadowed by the vague fear that his master was going to retract what he'd said the other night and snatch the weapon away from him.

Hiko was enjoying a silent chuckle at Kenshin's undisguised tension. He knew exactly what was running through his student's mind. The Hiten master had never been one to utter shallow promises though, and he wasn't starting now. He'd given Kenshin permission to carry the sword, and unless he went and skewered someone with it—something he had the ability but not the morals for, thanks to his outstanding training—the consent stood.

As Kenshin didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave the cabin even after his sword was secured, Hiko took the initiative, brushing past him with just enough force that Kenshin had to stumble towards the door lest he fall flat on his face. "Alright baka deshi, let's get moving."

"Shishou!" The indignant shout came after Kenshin recovered his balance.

Hiko paused at the threshold and threw a timed glance behind him. "Something wrong, Kenshin?"

"You—you—" Kenshin's spluttering cadenced with a frustrated huff and he stalked outside, staring fixedly ahead and ignoring Hiko's chuckle as he walked past.

Hiko followed, secretly pleased to see the bit of fire in Kenshin. He'd been so quiet and dazed the night before, it was reassuring to see no lasting ill effects.

Catching up to his deshi in a few long strides, Hiko set a quick pace, surreptitiously gauging Kenshin's ability to keep up. He wasn't disappointed. A night's rest must have done a world of good. Only Kenshin's surface injuries appeared to bother him, but minutely so.

His deshi's recovery no longer a pressing concern, Hiko moved to considering more important things. Like how to help adjust his apprentice's blossoming ego to a reasonable level. He was growing entirely too self-assured about his burgeoning sword skills.

"Kenshin,"

"Hm?" Kenshin's eyes flicked towards his master in acknowledgement, although his head stayed turned towards the surrounding forest.

"When you talk to Suzuki-san, you're to apologize for your behavior after you inquire about the money."

"What?!" Red hair whipped violently and violet eyes faced Hiko fully, face incredulous. " _Apologize_? But I didn't do anything wrong!" Hiko fought the urge to roll as his eyes as Kenshin's voice took on a faint whine. "We both agreed to it! It was a fair fight!"

Hiko gave him a long look at the last. "Was it?"

"Huh?"

"A fair fight. Was it?"

Kenshin looked down, not knowing why his master's pointed query made him feel so guilty. "I-I thought it was." He answered honestly. "I didn't . . . cheat." Even as he said it he recalled he _had_ used somewhat leading tactics initially, and his cheeks grew warm at the memory. Hiko was still looking at him, so Kenshin reiterated sotto voce, "He agreed to it."

"Unless you left something out, his only weapon was a slingshot," Hiko said. "You've been training as a swordsman for two years now. Did you really think that just because this boy comes from a samurai family and chooses to blame and bully others for his own misdeeds, he possesses the same level of fighting skill that you do?"

Kenshin wished he could tease out exactly what Hiko thought that level _was_ , but now was hardly the time. "No," He said softly. "But . . ." He trailed off. There was nothing else to say. Shishou was right. Kenshin had _known_ he would win. He had only wanted a chance to prove it so Naoki would acknowledge it. _Pride_. His master's words from the night before came back to him, and Kenshin unconsciously clenched a fist. He was determined to never again allow pride to dictate his actions.

All too soon, the high wall separating the Suzuki estate from the thoroughfare hove into sight, looking as intimidating as it had two days ago. Kenshin felt his heartbeat quicken and he looked at Hiko searchingly, noticing only then that his master had stopped several feet back. Hiko nodded him forward.

"Go on. I'll be watching." The words weren't necessarily ominous, but they sounded that way to Kenshin. He opened his mouth, closed it without saying anything. His master's folded arms and wide stance suggested nothing Kenshin said would change his mind.

Kenshin shuffled up to the gate, feeling as if his legs were mired in taffy. He stared for a long moment at the little bell moving gently from a breeze. The injustice of it all . . . why should _he_ apologize? _Everything_ had been Naoki's fault. Kenshin never would have proposed a fight if Naoki hadn't run into him.

And it washed over him then, like cold water on a hot day. It wasn't about whose fault lay where. It was about taking responsibility for his own actions so he could learn from them and not make the same mistakes in the future. Whether Naoki did that or not didn't matter.

Feeling pleased with himself for deciphering the meaning behind his master's demands, Kenshin squared his shoulders and reached confidently for the welcome bell.

Said confidence faltered when the gate opened, and Kenshin saw Suzuki-san himself standing there, daishou at his waist. Suzuki spoke first, which was just as well, because Kenshin's mouth had inexplicably turned dry.

"So your master found you. That's good."

"Yes," Kenshin said hoarsely. He coughed, trying to get moisture back in his throat. "Suzuki-san," The next words were painful. "Please forgive my carelessness. I—I dropped the payment you gave me—last night, for the drink set—and I thought maybe—maybe Naoki-kun had found it." It didn't come out as clear or orderly as it had sounded in his head. Suzuki made a sound, and Kenshin wasn't sure if it was a sharp laugh or a grunt of annoyance.

"Naoki!" Suzuki turned towards the house to bark his son's name. "Bring the coins out here!" Despite the harsh tone, Kenshin was oddly relieved. Suzuki-san was more than a little intimidating, but his voice wasn't near as scary as shishou's. And it least his words meant Naoki had found the money, and it wasn't lying lost on the forest floor.

After a few moments Naoki appeared on the engawa, taking care to close the shoji behind him. Kenshin took in the exaggerated limp and the crutch in his right hand. "Coming, father." Struck by the polite tone, Kenshin wondered for a second if this well-mannered boy was Naoki's twin brother. He put that idea to rest soon enough. Naoki hadn't seemed to notice Kenshin, at least not until he moved to stand aside his father. Then his eyes narrowed and he stabbed an accusing finger at Kenshin.

"That's him, father! That's the boy who ruined my clothes and threw me in the river!" Naoki's father silenced him with a raised hand.

"I know exactly who it is. And I want to hear what he says about your story." The color drained from Naoki's face.

"Well, what I—I didn't—you don't—" His father ignored the stammering and addressed Kenshin.

"I'm told you engaged my son in a fight." Kenshin swallowed, wishing he didn't have to revisit the conversation he'd just had with his master. Especially when his responses didn't exactly flatter him.

"Yes sir." Kenshin admitted, making an effort to hold Suzuzki's firm gaze. "I asked him to fight."

"Hm. And you went so far as to use the flat of your blade and shove him into the creek as well?"

"Yes sir." Kenshin wished he could disappear, or that shishou would get tired of waiting and come over to drag him away. Kenshin thought he could bear that humiliation if it ended the current line of questioning.

"And you dared to wager all of your master's earnings that you could beat him?"

Kenshin's eyes widened with surprise as they darted to Naoki, who was studying his feet. "Of course not! It's not my money, it's shishou's!"

"You expect me to take your word over my own son's." It was more a statement, but Kenshin nodded, shifting uncomfortably at the strange manner Suzuki was regarding him. "In that case . . ."

Kenshin caught the shift in ki and he was tempted to throw a panicked glance back at Hiko. He knew he couldn't afford the time though, so ignoring the burning sensation in his palms he drew his sword, blocking Suzuki's wakizashi as it arced towards his head. It happened so fast Kenshin hardly had time to blink, even though his legs had automatically shifted into a defensive stance. Sweat was beaded on his forehead and his heart was pounding wildly. Amazingly though, his hands were steady.

Suzuki-san re-sheathed his wakizashi, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Kenshin kept his sword out, thoroughly confused and not knowing what had just transpired. Shishou hadn't rushed over, so it couldn't be too bad. Naoki looked as if he wanted to melt into the floor.

"I—I don't understand." Kenshin finally sheathed his own sword, since it looked as if Suzuki's brief murderous intent had passed as quickly as it came.

"I have heard rumors of your master, and his sword style." Suzuki said in response. "I had my doubts, as I'm sure many others do." He held a cupped hand out towards Naoki, twitching his fingers in a demanding gesture. "Your speed at reading my intentions and effortlessly blocking," Suzuki hefted the bag Naoki placed in his hands, then held it out to Kenshin. "You did not lose to Naoki as he would have me believe. I am ashamed to admit that my son does not possess the skill to best you."

Kenshin felt his jaw drop. He was so stunned he didn't even take the bag of coins Suzuki was shaking at him.

"Your master should be proud." Suzuki finally took Kenshin's unmoving hand and set the bag of coins in it, pressing his fingers closed. "I will ask for him if I am ever in need of fine ceramics again."

"T-thank you." Kenshin stammered. He remembered to bow before walking away in a daze of disbelief, staring at the pouch of coins so intently he would have passed Hiko by had his master's hand not caught him across the chest.

"Hey. Don't run off with my money again." Hiko plucked the bag from Kenshin's loose fingers and tucked it away inside the folds of his mantle. "I take it that wasn't as terrible as you expected."

"Shishou . . . did you-"

"Know he wasn't trying to cleave you in two?" Hiko asked, regarding his student. "What do you think?" His master _must_ have known, but Kenshin couldn't figure out how for the life of him.

"But— _how_ did you know? When he pulled his sword-"

Kenshin broke off in surprise as his master's hand moved with startling alacrity, bringing his own sword to bear inches from Kenshin's face. Kenshin's reflection stared back at him from the polished metal, mouth open in a small "o."

"Are you scared?" Hiko asked mildly.

"N-no." He wasn't. Just—surprised.

"Of course not. Because there was no malice behind the draw." Hiko sheathed his sword in one smooth motion. "Did you sense ill intentions from Suzuki?"

Kenshin pursed his lips. "No. But I thought—"

"But you did sense something. What?"

"Oh." Kenshin's face smoothed with realization. "Suzuki-san was—unsure? But he wasn't angry. He was . . ." His eyes rose tentatively, watching Hiko's face. "He was calm?" Kenshin positively beamed when Hiko gave a nod of approval.

"Exactly. He meant to test you, and by doing so he tested his son as well. Develop your ability to read ki, Kenshin, and you'll understand a person's intentions far better than you could just by watching them. It is a skill that takes years to master, but no less important to a swordsman than skill with a sword."

The words sparked something in Kenshin's mind, and he recalled the less-than-satisfactory ryu kan sen drills from a week earlier. The move had been weighing on his mind, and he had gone over every twist and turn of his body numerous times. He was sure his form was correct. He just couldn't seem to make contact before his master countered the defensive strike.

He was almost certain he'd just heard the solution to his problem. He hated that it meant conceding his master was right, but he _was_ too slow. Slow to begin the technique. He was acting on what his eyes saw, waiting to counter only after he saw an attack formed. If he concentrated on reading his master's ki, reacting when he _felt_ the attack, surely his counter would be fast enough.

"What are you fidgeting for?" Kenshin had almost forgotten his master was walking right next to him. He started, stilling hands he hadn't realized were twitching.

"Shishou . . . when we get back . . ." He took a breath, then asked hurriedly through gritted teeth, "Will you spar with me? I think I know why my ryu kan sen isn't fast enough and I want to try it."

Kenshin could _feel_ his master's triumphant smirk on him even though he was steadfastly studying two ants fighting over a bit of leaf.

"So my baka deshi finally admits he's too slow." Hiko said languidly, enjoying the admission far too much for Kenshin's liking. "I suppose I have a duty as your master to reevaluate your technique. If I'd known a swim in the river was all it took to get you to see reason, I would've thrown you in myself a week ago."

Kenshin stayed mute through the good-natured heckling, although he could feel his face flaming. Hiko finally tired of ribbing his pupil and began walking again. Only the direction he was heading . . .

"Shishou, why are you going into town?" Kenshin knew his master abhorred trivial social interactions. It was why Kenshin was always sent to fetch any items Hiko couldn't procure for them in the mountains. Kenshin couldn't think of anything they needed at the moment though. Maybe his master was running low on sake . . .

"If we're going to spar, you'll need some new shoes." Hiko gestured at the too-small sandals Kenshin wore. "Those look pathetic."

Kenshin looked at him owlishly. He'd automatically assumed part of his punishment would be wearing the sandals for an undetermined amount of time. "Really?" He finally asked.

"If you mean are they really pathetic, yes, they are. But," Hiko cut Kenshin off as he opened his mouth for an angry retort, "If you meant to ask if your gracious master was going to buy you a brand new pair of sandals even though you thoughtlessly lost the perfectly good ones you already had," Hiko threw his scowling deshi a sardonic grin. "Then the answer is still yes." Once again Kenshin opened his mouth, and once again Hiko intercepted him. "After all, my expert instruction will all be for naught if you can't even apply it because you're tripping over your feet."

Kenshin gave up on getting a word in edgewise and settled for following Hiko down the road. Silence settled between them, familiar and comfortable. Kenshin found himself turning Suzuki-san's words over in his head, wondered if his master ever _was_ proud of him. Sometimes, he thought he could see _something_ behind that stoic veneer. It might be the slight lessening of a frown, the raise of an eyebrow, a begrudging grunt of approval when an executed task met his master's almost impossibly high standards. He wanted to know though; wanted unquestionable, spoken proof that his efforts weren't for naught and he was getting better, that he was honoring the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu.

For a wild second, Kenshin considered simply putting the question to Hiko; wondered if his master would even bother to give a response that wasn't drenched in sarcasm.

Caught up in his thoughts as he was, Kenshin almost missed the subtle motion in his peripheral. But there it was, shishou's head inclining slightly towards him, his dark eyes somewhat softened as the faintest twitch passed across his lips. It was brief, and Kenshin wasn't really sure it could be called a smile, but it was _different_. It was something that wasn't there on a daily basis, and it meant more to Kenshin than any carelessly uttered platitude. And he knew it wouldn't have seen it at all if his master thought he was paying attention to him.

But he was. He always was. Hiko Seijuurou had pulled him from mere survival to life, was entrusting him with the precious means to protect those incapable of defending themselves. Kenshin wanted with all his heart to live up to the expectations of the man who had given him so much.

So Kenshin returned the gesture, mimicking Hiko's subtle actions even though his master's face was once again as inscrutable as ever.

This time he was sure his master smiled.

Owari

* * *

 **A/N** : Y'all, this last chapter killed me. I'm even more unsure of it than I was the last chapter. To be fair, it's one of the longer chapters, and I AM kind of on vacation. But I waffled between whose perspective to use for forever (this chapter has had a loooot of rewrites), and finally settled on dueling with a writing taboo: head-hopping! I normally DETEST this, as I think it generally weakens and/or confuses the storyline, but I'm clinging to the hope that my brief perspective shift works here. Hopefully it isn't terribly obvious, because that would mean I was successful. But either way it hit you, I would love to know.

I've really enjoyed writing this, so thank you everyone for reading! Special thanks to last chapter's commenters: **The Wandering Pen, kokoronagomu, Lyoness, Guest (whoever you are!)**. Er . . . I think I haven't replied to those reviews yet, I apologize. I will get right on it this coming week!

To EVERYONE who reviewed at some point during this fic, thank you! Each tidbit of feedback helps with future writing endeavors. Speaking of future endeavors, I have two storylines now officially WIP, and whenever I have something to post on them (er . . . it might not be until the fall), up they will go. If you're curious, one is a post-Kyoto pre-Jinchuu fic, the other a young Kenshin fic that's more of a story idea than a story line.

Ja mata, minna.


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